Until
by Heather Long
Summary: What if Spike were given a wish? Story Complete


1.1.1 "Until..."  
  
If I caught the world in a bottle  
  
And everything was still beneath the moon  
  
Without your love would it shine for me?  
  
If I was smart was Aristotle  
  
And understood the rings around the moon  
  
What would it all matter if you loved me?  
  
Here in your arms where the world is impossibly still  
  
With a million dreams to fulfill  
  
And a matter of moments until the dancing ends  
  
Here in your arms when everything seems to be clear  
  
Not a solitary thing would I fear  
  
Except when this moment comes near the dancing's end  
  
If I caught the world in an hourglass  
  
Saddled up the moon so we could ride  
  
Until the stars grew dim, Until...  
  
One day you'll meet a stranger  
  
And all the noise is silenced in the room  
  
You'll feel that you're close to some mystery  
  
In the moonlight and everything shatters  
  
You feel as if you've known her all your life  
  
The world's oldest lesson in history  
  
Here in your arms where the world is impossibly still  
  
With a million dreams to fulfill  
  
And a matter of moments until the dancing ends  
  
Here in your arms when everything seems to be clear  
  
Not a solitary thing do I fear  
  
Except when this moment comes near the dancing's end  
  
Oh, if I caught the world in an hourglass  
  
Saddled up the moon and we would ride  
  
Until the stars grew dim  
  
Until the time that time stands still, Until...  
  
  
  
2 FALLING RAIN  
  
  
  
Falling Rain  
  
A piece of siding crashed down, sending sparks shooting up. Dawn jumped as it hit the ground and spun to look at it. Xander didn't move from where he was standing, stake poised over Spike's heart.  
  
"What did you do to her?" he growled again. "She wouldn't have done this if you hadn't done something."  
  
"Do you live in denial?" Spike snarled. "I didn't do a blasted thing to her. She and Willow did it to each other. I was trying to stop the bleeping bus."  
  
"You were both after Warren. She was HELPING you!" Xander's voice pitched higher, fury, fear and something else mingling in the tone.  
  
"Xander—"  
  
"Shut up, Dawn. This is between him and me. You either tell me or I make you dust." His fingers gripped the stake tighter. "Screw it, I'll just make you dust. Should have a long time ago."  
  
Spike nodded slowly. "G'head. Do it. Be a man. Can always count on you to take out the thing that can't hurt you. Kinda like Anya." The baiting did the trick and Xander hauled back with the stake, plunging it downwards only to find it slam to a stop as a wrist blocked his swing.  
  
"Stop it, Xander." Buffy said in a cold, quiet voice. A voice he'd never heard before. "Stop it now."  
  
"Didn't you see what he did to Willow?"  
  
"He didn't do anything to Willow." Her voice remained cold, detached, almost mechanical. "Now get up and get off of him, before I make you."  
  
Slowly, all of them looked at her. There was blood running down her cheek and her eyes were flat, cold and hard. Xander stared at her for a long moment before letting the stake drop from his hand and standing up, staggering back away from the vampire.  
  
"Slayer?" Spike asked, the implied questions crowding his voice.  
  
"We don't have much time. I followed her as far as Rack's. We need to find them. Her. Stop them."  
  
"Warren?"  
  
"Dead."  
  
Silence, perforated only by the occasional explosion of sparks and hissing, as rain begins to fall.  
  
"Can't say as I'm sorry to hear that." He sat up slowly, eyeing Xander who just stood there, saying nothing.  
  
Shrugging, Buffy turned her head to look at Dawn and Xander. Her eyes remained cool and aloof. "Xander, I want you to take Dawn to the airport. Get her on a flight to New York. My father is going to be there on a business trip,; Dawny needs to go visit for a while."  
  
"You—can't just send me—" Dawn's voice pitched back to the hysterical, snapped out of her shock by the sudden dismissal.  
  
"Shut up, Dawn." Buffy's dead eyes remained on Dawn's face. "You're going. You're not arguing. We're not doing this anymore. This isn't about how I feel about you or you being wanted. It's about you being somewhere safe and normal. You fight me on this, you're going to regret it. Shut up, go with Xander. Go see Dad, buy a lot of shoes."  
  
Dawn blinked at the onslaught. Buffy's deadly seriousness was infecting all of them and slowly she nodded.  
  
"Xander, did you hear me?"  
  
"What about—"  
  
"Take Dawn to the airport. We'll deal with the rest of it later."  
  
"Fine." Xander spun and stalked away, leaving Dawn to rush after him.  
  
"Well, that got rid of the bit and the git." Spike turned slowly, predator to predator and eyed the cold dead stare in Buffy's eyes. "Why?"  
  
"She's going to undo her spell," Buffy replied. "She's going to send me back to the dead. So we either find her and stop her, or I die. Either way, neither of them needs to be here for that."  
  
Pain flashed across Spike's face. He reached out a hand to her, half- expecting her to yank away from him. But she stood there and he felt the icy coldness of her skin. "I've got your back, Slayer."  
  
"I know. No matter what I do to you, you don't leave."  
  
"I love you."  
  
Simplicity itself.  
  
"Spike ... if she's successful ..."  
  
"She'll be right behind you."  
  
Buffy nodded slowly. "Thank you."  
  
"My pleasure."  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"May as well."  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I want to love you."  
  
Silence.  
  
"I'd like that, too."  
  
"Maybe ... if ... when ..."  
  
"Maybe, Slayer. Let's go."  
  
Silence, punctuated only by the falling rain.  
  
2.1.1.1.1 Hard Rain  
  
The rain was coming down in torrents now. The water splashing against the dried blood on her face and scalp felt good. She trailed after Spike as he stalked through the underbelly of the town of Sunnydale. It never failed to amaze her that such a small town could have an underbelly, but its alleys, cemeteries and dirty corners far outnumbered the idyllic streets and suburbs it advertised.  
  
They said nothing to each other as the rain sluiced over their clothes, saturating everything until even the inside of her shoes felt soaked. What were they going to talk about, how they might have to kill Willow? Or maybe they would discuss how Warren used the chip to drive Spike into a frenzy. Buffy felt her lips curl. No, maybe they could discuss the burns they were both still healing from when the door shattered, spilling sunlight over both of them.  
  
Her fingers curled into fists. If Warren—the thought broke off as pain seized her chest and she hit the ground gasping. Something was closing around her chest; she couldn't breathe. Water splashed against her face as she fought the tremendous pain that started to black out her vision. She must have bitten her lip; blood filled her mouth and just as suddenly as the pain started, it ceased. She choked, reeling from the dual shocks.  
  
Wild-eyed, she looked around the alley and realized that they were pressed up against the wall behind some crates. Spike was cradling her; his eyes were wary and watchful. "Better?"  
  
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded slowly. She lifted up a hand to her mouth; the taste of blood was still there. Violent, copper and nauseating.  
  
"Sit for a minute. Gather your thoughts, we'll get started looking for Rack again in a minute." His eyes went past her for a moment, sweeping the alley before returning to her face.  
  
"You're having a hard time finding him, aren't you?" she asked quietly, still not quite trusting her voice. It rewarded her by trembling with the emotion she'd kept so coldly locked up before the painful attack.  
  
"He's hiding himself. He has to know I'm coming. They wouldn't be stupid enough to think I'd let them—"  
  
"He knows." A third voice, a familiar voice, interrupted. Their eyes shot upwards at the demon who appeared in the shadows next to them. Despite the altered features, her voice was unmistakable.  
  
"Anyanka." Buffy didn't bother with her more human name as she struggled to stand. Spike put her on her feet and positioned himself partially between the pair. Buffy didn't object; she wasn't sure she was up to dealing with the vengeance demon as yet.  
  
"Buffy. Spike's blood is going to slow them down, but it's not going to stop them."  
  
"What?"  
  
Buffy's eyes darted to Spike, then suddenly she turned her head and spit. "You put your blood in my mouth?!"  
  
"Only way to slow them down. Vampire magic. Interrupts their magic. Had to do something."  
  
"I do NOT -- " Buffy steeled herself and cut off the diatribe. They so didn't need to do this right now. She held up a hand to ward off Spike's protestations. "I got it. You had to stop them. I won't be a vamp, you didn't drink from me."  
  
"They're still working on the spell, Buffy." Anyanka spoke again. The rain falling around her didn't even seem to touch her. Must be nice to be all- powerful again.  
  
"We need to find them, but Rack is hiding from Spike."  
  
"I know."  
  
Silence invaded the space between them as they stared at each other. Finally, Anyanka spoke again. "I can't help you, directly. But I can give Spike a wish. One wish."  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Me?"  
  
They spoke nearly in unison and with nearly as much shock.  
  
"You dumped him, Buffy. You took his heart, you abused it, and then you dumped him. He may be male, but he's earned a wish." Anyanka folded her own arms. "I've learned a lot; it's not just women who are scorned. Men can be, too. So I'll give Spike the wish, it's all I can do."  
  
"Why, Anya?" Buffy took a step towards her.  
  
"Because bringing you back to life was wrong. I didn't want to do it and I let Xander's grief convince me to. I let Willow's conviction that she could convince me. I let Giles's mourning convince me. But it was wrong. I shouldn't have done it; I should have known better. I did know better. But what was done, shouldn't be undone. I know Willow needed to kill Warren; I applaud that. But what she's doing now is wrong, too. So, I can't help you directly; I'll do the only thing I can do. So, make a wish, Spike."  
  
Buffy looked at Spike. Spike was staring at Anya with a mixture of repulsion and hope. "Anything I want?"  
  
"Anything."  
  
His eyes traveled to Buffy's face. Somewhere lightning exploded in the sky and a power line erupted. Sunnydale was plunged into darkness.  
  
And the hard rain kept falling.  
  
  
  
2.1.1.1.2 Raindrops on Roses  
  
One wish.  
  
Time slowed around them as the rain spattered down. Rats moved slowly, lumbering through their nightly travels from garbage pit to garbage pit. In the dark of the alley, a vampire stood with the Slayer and a vengeance demon. They'd all been to hell and back together. None could be considered the best of friends and no matter how much he loved her, he didn't always like the Slayer.  
  
One wish.  
  
His eyes moved over Buffy's face. The soft contours of it. Her slight build. She was hardly half his size, yet she possessed twice his strength. The jagged flashes of lightning illuminated her features, marred by the dried blood which speckled her face and blonde hair. He could smell her blood, he'd been able to smell it since she shown back up. The scent of it was nearly as intoxicating as the shirts he'd cradled in his hands, purloined in secret.  
  
One wish.  
  
One hundred and forty-seven days; one hundred and forty-eight, except that the day she came back didn't count. One hundred and forty-seven days of keeping the so-called Scoobies alive, babysitting Dawn and saving Buffy every night. Saving her the way he'd been unable to that night. One hundred and forty-seven days of hunting the Doc, a demon who'd vanished with slithering ease. One hundred and forty-seven days of painfully trying to figure out an existence no longer defined by the woman he loved, but by a promise he'd made.  
  
One wish.  
  
Three years of suffering with the damned chip in his head. Unable to hunt, suffering the indignity of being chained in a bath tub, fed through a straw. Suffering the abuse at the hands of the people he offered to help in order to protect himself. Suffering abuse even when he stayed to help, despite getting nothing out of it. Three years of suffering sanctions from a world he once dominated.  
  
One wish.  
  
"You're beneath me."  
  
"You seek something effulgent."  
  
"It's all in your head, poor little Spikey."  
  
One wish.  
  
His eyes returned from the past to gaze once more into Buffy's eyes. He searched them; the cold hard gaze had faltered, revealing the depth of pain within. He'd accused her of thriving on her misery, being addicted to it and unable to let go of the pain. She clung to her friends, refusing to join him in the darkness. A creature of darkness and a creature of light. She was the bane of all vampires. She was the fire in his soul.  
  
One wish.  
  
He searched her eyes. He saw the girl he'd stalked in the Bronze, dancing joyfully with her companions. He replayed the video in his mind as she took out the minion with ease and a quip. The night in the school; so close, only to be driven away by a fierce mother wielding an axe. For a moment, his mouth quirked upwards at the image. Halloween, helpless under the sorcery of Giles's former companion; she should have been easy pickings.  
  
One wish.  
  
Abandoning her in the midst of her fight against Angelus. He knew then that Angelus was going to slay her, he'd ripped out her heart, stripped her of friends and now he was going to take her life. He remembered the odd tang of regret as he abandoned her to her fate. The curious thrill of joy when he learned of his mistake and her survival.  
  
One wish.  
  
"Spike, that robot ... that was sick ... what you did, though ... that was real."  
  
One wish.  
  
His closed his eyes slowly as he found in her gaze what he'd been searching for. There was no horror, no shock, no pain. There was just faith.  
  
One wish.  
  
"I wish ..."  
  
  
  
2.1.1.1.3 Raindrops Keep Falling On Our Heads  
  
I can think of younger days  
  
When living for my life  
  
Was everything a man could want to do  
  
I could never see tomorrow  
  
But I was never told about the sorrow  
  
"I wish ..."  
  
"Spike—" Buffy interrupted, her hand coming over to touch his arm. She stared into his eyes and wished she could read him as well as he read her. "I—" There was so much to say, so much she needed to tell him, and she couldn't figure out how to verbalize anything. How could she feel so much and not understand any of it.?  
  
"It's okay, pet." He covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers. His strength was such a perfect complement to hers. His heart was bigger than hers in some ways, but his methods were so very different. "It will be okay."  
  
Buffy took her eyes from him to glance towards Anyanka, who stood there waiting patiently in the rain. She neither encouraged nor discouraged with her gaze. Buffy never understood Xander's attraction to Anya. She'd supported the relationship as something good and bright in her world of darkness. She'd so eagerly welcomed the idea of something good coming out of this nightmarish world, that she'd overlooked so much.  
  
They didn't have time for this. She looked back at Spike and felt a wealth of regret. "There's so much I want to say."  
  
"It's not goodbye, luv. Don't worry about that." Spike smiled at her, then leaned forward and kissed her temple.  
  
If it wasn't a goodbye, why the hell did she feel like it was? Buffy opened her mouth to add something else, but clamped down on it. They really didn't have time for this. They'd lingered too long as it was.  
  
And how can you mend a broken heart?  
  
How can you stop the rain from falling down?  
  
How can you stop the sun from shining?  
  
What makes the world go round?  
  
How can you mend a this broken man?  
  
How can a loser ever win?  
  
Please help me mend my broken heart  
  
And let me live again  
  
"All right, then." Spike turned towards Anyanka. Meeting her gaze squarely, he set his shoulders and braced himself. "I wish—"  
  
The world around Buffy rocked and she felt, no she saw it beginning to change. The dingy alleyway vanished and was replaced by a cobblestone path. The skittering rats disappeared and a sleek, long-tailed black cat trailed out and wrapped itself around her leg. Buffy swayed on her feet and sat down abruptly.  
  
The rain had stopped.  
  
I can still feel the breeze  
  
That rustles through the trees  
  
And misty memories of days gone by  
  
We could never see tomorrow  
  
No one said a word about the sorrow  
  
Fingers trembling, Buffy reached a hand up to her scalp. The blood was still there. She was still here. Where was Spike?  
  
"Anya?" Buffy said slowly, pushing herself back to her feet and looking around. "Spike?"  
  
She pushed away from the wall and slowly moved towards the street. Slowly, her eyes traveled the dark underbelly, which wasn't dark and certainly wasn't an underbelly anymore. Trees dotted the intersections, warm cobblestones decorated areas where only dingy pavement existed before.  
  
No trash rested in the gutters. It was clean, it was fresh.  
  
"No ..." Buffy's eyes whipped around frantically. She turned from the alley and started running. The fatigue in her muscles screamed at her and she ignored them. Her heart hammered and she kept on running. She covered the two miles to the crash site in no time, and slowly skittered to a halt as she arrived at the clean, fresh street.  
  
There was no accident.  
  
No overturned bus.  
  
And how can you mend a broken heart?  
  
How can you stop the rain from falling down?  
  
How can you stop the sun from shining?  
  
What makes the world go round?  
  
How can you mend this broken man?  
  
How can a loser ever win?  
  
Please help me mend my broken heart  
  
And let me live again  
  
Buffy thrust her fingers into her hair and felt like she was going to rip it out. Her eyes skittered and danced over the pristine scene. She pivoted on a heel and started running again. Another mile, her lungs were burning and her muscles were threatening to quit. She'd been abusing herself too much, but she didn't slow down. She kept running till she crested the hill into Sunnydale park.  
  
The swing set was empty.  
  
No corpse of Warren swung in the breeze that was now gently blowing in from the coast, pushing away the rain clouds and alerting her to the sunrise in the distance.  
  
How can you mend this broken man?  
  
How can a loser ever win?  
  
Please help me mend my broken heart  
  
And let me live again  
  
Buffy's heart thumped in her chest as she looked around wildly. Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed. Hurling herself into motion again, she ran across the park, ignoring the early morning joggers she startled as she dashed past them and left them in the dust. She flung herself over the wall and onto main street, and zig-zagged down the main drag to the small side street that housed the Magic Box.  
  
Sliding to a halt, Buffy felt the skin on her knees break from the abuse as she fell on them and stared at the empty building.  
  
"SPIKE!"  
  
After the Rain  
  
Buffy stared at the building for a long time and it wasn't until the sunlight crept over her lap that she realized that she needed to get up and go home. Touching a hand to her scalp, she looked at the flecks of blood on her finger tips. There was no way she'd imagined everything that happened. It wasn't possible. She remembered all of it.  
  
The rain.  
  
The battle.  
  
Willow going mad.  
  
She remembered it.  
  
What the hell had Spike wished for?  
  
Tired, dispirited and for lack of anything better to do, Buffy trudged the long walk across town towards her house. She watched the mindless motion of busy streets. Kids called to each other as they made their way to the various schools. Shops were opening and people were diving into their normal lives with the eagerness most folks show at—Buffy paused in her trudge to look at her watch.  
  
Eight a.m.  
  
Exhaustion washed over her again. This was almost too much to grasp. Asylums, heaven, hells and Sunnydale. Nothing should surprise her, not even the sudden stop of what seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened.  
  
Again.  
  
As she turned the corner to her street, she started to laugh. The laughter was half-hysterical sobbing and her hands rubbed at her eyes to push the tears away. She turned up the path to her house and was fumbling in her pockets for the key when the door whooshed open.  
  
"Oh, thank God. I was starting to get worried."  
  
Buffy froze in place and lifted red-rimmed eyes up to stare at her mother, who was wiping her hands with a dish towel.  
  
"M-m-mom?"  
  
"Yes, I know I was supposed to be at the gallery early today," Joyce nodded, pulling Buffy inside and frowning at the scalp wound. "But when you were gone all night, I got worried. I called Mr.—"  
  
"Mom. You're here!"  
  
"Baby, how many fingers am I holding up?" Joyce frowned, her concern clearly etched across her face.  
  
"Three. You're here ... where's Dawn?"  
  
"She went to school. Come on, let's get you out of these clothes and I'll fix you some breakfast, then you can get some sleep. Or we can talk, whichever you'd like."  
  
Her mother was already ushering her up the stairs and Buffy climbed them slowly, still trying to wrap her mind around this concept. She froze at the top step as a clearly British voice sounded from the bottom of the stairs.  
  
"Oh, thank God," Giles repeated Joyce's oath from earlier. "Your mum called me when you didn't come in. We were a bit worried. No—" he motioned for her to keep going when she started back down the stairs. "Go get cleaned up. We can talk when you're done. I'll want a full report."  
  
"Um ..." Buffy nodded slowly. "Sure. Just promise me something."  
  
"Anything."  
  
"Don't disappear while I'm upstairs."  
  
Giles frowned at her, then shooed her again. "We'll be right here."  
  
Buffy turned slowly and continued on to her room. The house was exactly the way it should be. She stopped at the doorway to her mother's room and saw all of her mother's things, statues, decorations, candles, everything was where it was supposed to be.  
  
She slowly pushed open the door to her own room, cautious, as if expecting to find ... something. What she had no idea.  
  
"Shower," she told herself. "Shower, clean hair, clean clothes, better b.o. Everything will explain itself and this will all make sense."  
  
Showered, changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and a familiar t-shirt, Buffy descended the stairs and smiled as she heard the sounds of her mother in the kitchen joined by that dear, dear British voice. Who would have ever thought she would love to hear the sound of Giles's stuffy tones?  
  
"Ah, here she is!" Her mother smiled warmly as she walked inside and motioned to the table. "Sit down. I'm fixing pancakes. Mr. Giles said that Mr. Carstairs will be here in a moment, let's get you fed before he gets here."  
  
"Mr. Carstairs?" Buffy looked at them blankly.  
  
"The envoy from the Watcher's Council. He's come to help us with the -- " Giles sighed, pulling his glasses off and cleaning them. "He's come to help us with Willow."  
  
"Oh." Buffy nodded slowly and kept staring at the two of them as she ate her pancakes.  
  
"I'll leave you two to talk. But I would like Buffy to be able to get some sleep." Joyce looked pointedly at Giles. "So try to keep it short, okay?"  
  
"Of course," Giles acquiesced to her request. Turning back around at the table, he cradled his tea cup in his hand. "How did it go last night?"  
  
"I don't think you'd believe me if I tried to explain it."  
  
His brow puckered as he regarded her. "Why don't you try? After all we've seen, I'm certain it won't be as bad as all that."  
  
Buffy stuffed some pancake in her mouth, savoring the flavor and avoiding the question. She'd just come up with something that didn't sound like straitjacket material when her mom sailed back into the kitchen. "They're right in here," she was saying over her shoulder. "Buffy, Mr. Giles, your guest is—"  
  
Her jaw dropped as he strolled into the room, tucking a pocket watch into his jacket. "Thank you, Mrs. Summers." His accent was impeccable. "Mr. Giles?" He offered his hand to Giles.  
  
"Mr. Carstairs." Giles stood immediately and pumped the blond man's hand. "Very good of you to get here so quickly."  
  
"They took the request seriously and dispatched me immediately."  
  
"Excellent. This, of course, is—" He gestured to Buffy.  
  
"Is the Slayer." Spike grinned. "I believe I would know her anywhere."  
  
  
  
World in a Bottle  
  
Buffy stared at Spike, stunned. Giles was talking and Spike answered a few of his questions, but she barely heard anything of the exchange. Her eyes were riveted on the silk cut of his suit. The watch he wore, the button down shirt. Everything about him bespoke of refined elegance, even his language. He sounded stuffier than Wesley did, if that was at all possible.  
  
Lifting a hand to her head, she rubbed at the dull ache that was starting to form. A muscle was starting to twitch at the corner of her eye. She glanced up when she realized the conversation between the two had ebbed to a halt. "What?"  
  
"Mr. Carstairs was just asking if you were all right. Do try to pay attention, Buffy. I know you're tired, but we've finally got the help we need for the Willow problem."  
  
"Really," Buffy's gaze slanted back at Spike. "What exactly do you do, 'Mr. Carstairs'?"  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile, but his response was interrupted as Joyce stepped into the room. "I'm sorry to keep interrupting you. There's a call for you, Rupert." She glanced past him to Buffy. "Eat. That's an order."  
  
Giles excused himself and Joyce followed him from the room. Buffy looked back at Spike or Carstairs or whoever he was. Suspicion inched through her as his smile grew. "Are you really Mr. Carstairs?"  
  
"William Carstairs," Spike grinned. "At your service."  
  
"Spike, what did you wish?"  
  
His mouth quirked with an odd look of disapproval, then he shot a glance over his shoulder and nodded to the door. "Why don't we step outside for a bit of fresh air?"  
  
"Because it's seventy-five and sunny?"  
  
He grinned again and strolled over to the door, straight into the sunlight, opening the door with a flourish. "After you."  
  
Her head felt like it was going to explode. They stepped outside onto the porch and it struck Buffy just how normal it all was. The sun was shining, there were birds chirping away merrily. The dog two streets over was doing its normal barking frenzy at passing cars.  
  
She turned slowly to regard Spike. He was standing in the patch of sunlight, illuminated, his hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his trousers. He seemed absolutely at ease. She was as happy to see him as she was ready to strangle him.  
  
"My mom's in there." It was a weak beginning.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Giles, too."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Willow's ... ?"  
  
"Still a bit around the bend."  
  
Buffy sighed. "You are Spike, right? I'm not really in a mental institution hopped up on psych drugs?"  
  
"No," he replied quietly. "You're not."  
  
Relief exploded through her as she let out a deep breath. "Okay." Sitting down on the porch, she put her hands back to her temple. "I'm me. You're you, but you're ... not all crispy critter in the sunlight which means something is different. But that was obvious from the—" she rambled and then looked at him as he sat down next to her, clasping his hands together loosely. "What did you wish?"  
  
He took a deep breath. Buffy blinked slowly. He took a deep breath. She reached out a hand to touch him. His face was warm. His chest was rising and falling. Slowly her hand slid down until it rested intimately against his chest. His chest which housed a beating heart.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Covering her hand with his gently, Spike smiled a bit. "Oh. But that wasn't what I wished."  
  
"But you're ..."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Then how?"  
  
His mouth quirked up into that small grin again, one that said he was having a private joke at her expense. But his eyes, his expressive eyes, told her he wasn't laughing at her. "I wished for a world where we could be together and I could still help you, support you and not cause you pain to be with me."  
  
She stared at him for a long moment. Speechless.  
  
"But Willow is ..."  
  
"I know. I didn't know what I was going to get. I almost wished to be back at the top of the tower ... to be the one that ... to have done my job right that night. But it wouldn't have changed everything. I wanted a world where we had a chance. It got your mum back," he offered weakly and looked away from her.  
  
"Spi—William … I … God, this is.."  
  
"Oh, beg your pardon." Giles sounded startled as he stepped through the open door to where they sat, Buffy's hand still intimately pressed against William's chest. Giles whipped his glasses off and wiped at them frenetically. "I'll just be inside when the two of you are ready ..."  
  
Buffy almost laughed at Giles being so Giles and fleeing inside just as he offered, then as soon as the mirth arose, it evaporated. She looked back at Spike—William—whatever he called himself now. "You're a Watcher?"  
  
He nodded slowly.  
  
"Sent to help me with Willow."  
  
He nodded again.  
  
"And you know all this and I … Spike, why do I remember? Why do we both remember?"  
  
"Because I didn't want you to forget me and I could never forget you. It's not perfect, Buffy,; I don't even know what all has changed. But we're both here. I'm still going to help you. We're going to do this together. You have your mum and Giles,; the bit, too. It can be good, don't you think?"  
  
Buffy stared at him for a long minute. "But is it real?"  
  
"It's real if we make it real." His voice hung heavy with emotion. "I thought ... I thought it was a good idea at the time."  
  
Gazing at him, Buffy slowly drew her hand down his chest until she could touch his hands with hers. "We still have to fight Willow. And there's a lot to get used to. I just ..."  
  
"Just?"  
  
She took a deep breath. "I just feel like we cheated."  
  
He chuckled. "It's not kitten poker, luv. It was a wish. Could have wished for anything, but didn't want to not share it with you."  
  
"I know. I know, and I can't ... I can't tell you what that makes me feel. I'm so overwhelmed by everything, but Spike … we ran away. I've been running away my entire life and the only thing different about this is that I didn't run away alone."  
  
"I told you, Slayer. You don't have to be alone. Not as long as I'm here. You don't have to be."  
  
"What if ... I want to ... what if I need to go back?"  
  
He withdrew from her, physically and emotionally. Standing up, he strode into the yard and then spun on his heel to face her. "What the bloody hell do you want? You wanted normal. I got back part of that normal. You wanted me to not be an evil vampire. I'm not an evil vampire. We have a chance here Slayer, you said that you wanted to—"  
  
Standing slowly, Buffy nodded. "Yes, Spike. I said I wanted to. But this ... this is a wonderful gift. But everything keeps changing so much, so fast; one year I'm an only child, the next I have a sister and my mother dies; then I'm dead, but then I'm not. My world falls apart; I can't tell what's real and what's not. When I finally start to figure it out, no matter how hateful and awful it was, it changes again."  
  
"Life changes things, Slayer. It's called progress and time and evolution. It's what happens."  
  
"But we don't change."  
  
He hesitated, dropping his hands back into his pockets and studying the grass beneath his three-hundred-pound leather loafers. "We change, Slayer. We just don't always like those changes."  
  
"I feel stupid even asking this. Can we change it back?"  
  
"You mean do we have a choice?" At her nod, he shrugged. "Ask Anyanka. She granted the wish."  
  
Their eyes locked for a long moment; it was as though their minds meshed. It had happened in battle, and once or twice when they'd gotten physical, but never so intimately or when they were so at peace. "Let's find out what Giles has for us; we'll figure out about Willow, and then maybe ..."  
  
Nodding slowly, he looked back down at his loafers. "Maybe. I haven't been human in over a hundred years, Slayer. Do you really want me to go back to being a monster?"  
  
Back turned, facing the house that his wish had restored for her. The life she'd craved, they'd craved, a life where they could be together without the pain and bitterness of the past. She paused for a long moment, letting the memories tumble over her. "You might have been a monster, Spike. But I know something now that I didn't then."  
  
He waited, silent.  
  
"You were my monster."  
  
She walked back into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the sunshine. His eyes trailed after her as he murmured, "And you were my Slayer."  
  
2.1.2 STORM FRONT  
  
2.1.2.1 Cinderella  
  
Giles was waiting at the table, a cup of tea poised in his hand as Buffy returned. He was watching her studiously then moved his gaze to Spike as the young man returned as well. Spike gestured for Buffy to take a seat before joining the two of them. A cup of tea steamed next to his books and it seemed so unusual for him to pick it up and start sipping it.  
  
He was so so Giles!  
  
"All right, so there was a note here about a rat," William was saying, but Buffy barely heard Giles' reply. Amy. Where was Amy? How'd she know about Rack anyway, when Buffy last knew her, she wasn't an out of control powerhouse. Well, except for the entire thing with Xander's love spell, but after all the spells Buffy'd seen go awry, it didn't seem all that odd that that one did.  
  
"She's upstairs, we know Willow was using her as a power source," Giles explained while Buffy slowly ate the now cold pancakes. "I honestly don't believe Willow was aware of it, but when she took charge of the rat, which housed the admittedly powerful form of another witch, something about the proximity and the spells, linked them."  
  
"So it's her familiar. How are you keeping her away from it?" William was writing diligently in a journal, noting everything that Giles was saying.  
  
"Magic." Giles looked sheepish. "I may not be a powerful spell caster, but I do know a thing or two. A cloak keeps her from being able to pinpoint the rat's- -"  
  
"Amy." Buffy supplied. "The rat has a name Giles."  
  
"Of course she does, Buffy." Giles sighed. "But right now the less we mention it the better."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Word disassociation." Spike explained. Was it possible for his tone to become more British? "Powerful creatures that employ the use of the magical arts often rely on the power in a word, in this instance a name. The more powerful the implication and supplications, the more power the word has. In this instance, I would hazard a guess that without the power source your witch friend is desperate and will be doing invocations to learn the location. Such spells would be attracted to a name and --" He trailed off at Buffy's blank look. "Just don't say the name."  
  
"Oooookay."  
  
Both men nodded at her and Buffy passed a hand over her eyes. One thing about this reality, research was still boring and over her head. At least Dawn was still here. Dawn and her mother.  
  
Buffy frowned to herself. What happened with Glory and the monks? If they were still here, had she still -- as if summoned by the question, memories began to leak into her mind. Memories that she didn't possess. They were alien, yet possessed form and shape. Feelings that she could scarcely place a name on crept in as well.  
  
Glory was hunting for the key; the realization that Dawn was the key sent them all struggling to deal the ramifications. Having a hell god on the warpath didn't help at all. They'd sent Dawn and Joyce away, to England. The Watchers provided a safe haven while Buffy lead the hell god a merry chase. The world around her slowed as Buffy watched these memories scroll through her mind.  
  
Riley was consorting with vamp-hos, something to do with her residual feelings for Angel. He was convinced that she was never going to stop using him to punish Angel, the way she'd used Xander before him. Xander discovered his dirty little secret and he showed Buffy what was going on. Riley tried to blame her for everything that happened, but Xander had got in his face. It wasn't until they'd started physically exchanging blows that she intervened.  
  
She told Riley to get the hell out and after he did, she'd turned to Xander.  
  
"Oh my god." Buffy blinked herself back into the kitchen and stared at Giles and Spike, both of who were now staring at her.  
  
"Are you all right, Slayer?" Spike frowned with concern.  
  
"I think -- I think I need to go lay down."  
  
"Good idea." Giles nodded before Spike could say anymore. "You've had a long night. Go get some sleep, we'll manage her."  
  
Buffy nodded slowly then pushed up from the table, she managed to avoid Spike's gaze as she all but fled from the room. She waved to her mother as she darted up the stairs. Soon enough she was safe in her own room, she leaned back against the door as the grief that the memory carried slammed into her.  
  
She turned to Xander, again. Just as she'd turned to him after discovering that Angel was a vampire. They'd made love, often enough, when Buffy knew Angel would find out. He would find out and suffer, knowing that she would rather be with a human than ever with him. He'd borne the abuse stoically, but Buffy had used Xander. She cared about him, but she'd never been in love with him.  
  
Sliding down the door, Buffy wrapped her hands around her middle and tried to catch her breath. Xander never stopped loving her, never stopped letting her use him. Until the night that she'd gone into the desert. The night she'd gone to discover the source of the Slayer's power, the guide she needed to destroy the hell god.  
  
Glory took Xander then. She took him, believing that he was the key.  
  
She took him and she beat him so badly, but Xander never told her. Xander never told her who the key was or why.  
  
Because Buffy never told him about the key.  
  
When she'd come back from the desert, renewed, refreshed and ready to do battle. She'd found Xander, lying in her bed. Or she found what was left of him. Buffy stuffed a hand in her mouth as bile rose, burning and acrid in her throat.  
  
Xander died in that bed waiting for her to get back from the desert. Giles told her repeatedly she couldn't blame herself, but whom else could she blame? She'd used him, used him like she'd been using Spike. She used him to punish Angel. She'd used him to punish Riley. She used his love and devotion to punish the others who'd dared to love her.  
  
What the hell kind of monster was she?  
  
  
  
2.1.2.2 Sleeping Beauty  
  
Spike watched her departure with a mixture of concern and regret. Slanting his eyes back towards, Giles he considered the older watcher towards whom he now felt a measure of respect. Respect mixed with some form of awe. It was a Watcher's dream to be assigned to the Slayer. Only a handful appeared to stay with the Council once their Slayer departed, so this was William's first real opportunity to meet an Official Watcher.  
  
"Mr. Carstairs." The look that Giles favored him with now lost all befuddlement or gentleness. His lips pursed and his gaze was frankly assessing. "I think one thing you need to understand now that you are in the field is that personal involvement with the Slayer is usually unadvised."  
  
"Really?" Spike cocked a brow. "Explains why you're engaged to her mum then." The belligerence was familiar and he embraced it eagerly. Nancy boy didn't need to be telling him what to do.  
  
"That...that is a moot point. Buffy has been through a great deal, I don't expect you to understand. But take my advice, give her some space. She's a very troubled young woman with a lot of reason. She does not need to be confused or upset, especially right now."  
  
A denial dying unspoken on his lips, Spike nodded grudgingly. There were memories of a report he'd read recently, something to do with the Slayer and a companion who'd been killed. He wasn't sure of the identity of the companion; he'd have to review that. He shifted, uncomfortable for the first time since he'd arrived. Everything seemed relatively straightforward, but something in Buffy's expression earlier warned him that he was misinterpreting something.  
  
He reviewed his wish one more time and fidgeted with the lapel on his jacket. He was an accomplished scholar and something of a magician. The latter surprised him given his distrust for spell and whatnot. More often than not, magic always carried a price tag. A price tag he wasn't remotely interested in paying. Yet, given a few moments, he could recall reams of information from grimoires imported from all over the world.  
  
Leaning back in the chair, he found himself contemplating the pencil. The problems they faced were enormous. An out of control witch with a grudge to bear and a Slayer who was too close to the situation. His orders from the Watcher's Council crystallized in his memory, as if summoned by merely thinking about them.  
  
Curling his lip with distaste, he scratched at his chin. There was a hint of stubble. He'd neglected to shave before departing from the hotel room that the Council reserved for him. A slow blink interrupted his flow of thought. The terms that flowed through his quiet mind were disciplined, educated and refined. He felt the urge for a smoke, and then wrinkled his nose in distaste at the direction in which his thoughts moved.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
"Carstairs?" Giles repeated, he realized, for the second time. "I suppose you're jet-lagged. If you leave your notes, I'll go ahead and work on them."  
  
"Beg pardon?"  
  
"I said you looked jet-lagged. If you want to leave your notes, I'll go through them and what we have and see if I can discover a course of action."  
  
Spike shook his head. "No, I'll be fine." Now that he thought about it, he was tired and a bit hungry. A shower sounded like a divine plan. There was another sense of pressure and it took him a moment to reconcile memory to physical fact. "Perhaps another cuppa to get the blood flowing?"  
  
"Of course." Giles reached for the pair of cups and moved around the kitchen. His efficient ease bespoke of a familiarity beyond the occasional visit. The idea that Joyce could have done better warred with this sense of profound respect. The confusing aspects of what he knew and what were starting to grate on his nerves. Yet, his sense of magic gave him a deeper understanding of the mechanics of this wish-verse. He created this reality based on a single premise, the premise itself then expanded to fill a waiting void. As he interacted with the creations within the void, the premise expanded to bring about the physics of the situation.  
  
Absently jotting down some notes, Spike considered the alternatives that could come to play. Everything not specified within the specific wish were superfluous and remained fluid. The decisions that were made as the premise expanded were neither gratuitous nor expected.  
  
He was a Watcher for one.  
  
Giles and Joyce were engaged for another.  
  
Both were within the specifications of his wish. Other factors, such as Willow's path towards darkness seemed unchanged, yet they must be. What sent her spiraling down that path before was the power of the spells she worked against Glory. "The witch grew more powerful last year, didn't she?" He asked abruptly, sitting forward at the table and reaching for the journal that Giles was using for a reference.  
  
"What? Oh, yes. Though before hand I believe her dabbling was becoming significantly more than dabbling, but it was almost always in an associative capacity. The needs for battle magic grew exponentially last year."  
  
Flipping through the pages, Spike scanned the data. "She was the one who began instructing the Slayer in the use of magic. That was how they discovered the key to begin with."  
  
"Yes," Giles returned to the table and set the tea down in front of him, cradling his own cup. "Though she wasn't precisely instructing Buffy in the use of magic. It was related to the discovery of a brain tumor her mother had. She thought her mother was the victim of a spell."  
  
Spike nodded, still scanning Giles' detailed notes. "What about the first time she abused the magic? What did she do?"  
  
"She helped to destroy the hell god. At the time, none of us were aware of precisely how she gained so much power. I didn't learn about the pact until much later. It was unfortunate that Tara was the first one to stumble over the information."  
  
"A pact with?"  
  
"The demon G'luk'tash'ik."  
  
"G'luk'tash'ik. Is she mad?"  
  
"Is that a rhetorical question?" Giles asked dryly. "She made a pact, offering the blood sacrifice of a doe, I believe and then took his power into herself. She, along with Buffy, were then able to weaken Glory until she reverted to human form."  
  
"At which point you killed the human form."  
  
"Correct." Giles replied casually, as though daring him to comment on the matter.  
  
Spike ignored it and continued to consult the diary. "You make several references to her continued studies throughout the summer and then a disappearance?"  
  
"Yes, she and Tara were having difficulties. At the time, I thought it had to do with Tara's discovery of the pact. Unfortunately, what Tara neglected to mention to anyone at first was that Willow was tampering with our memories, all small stuff, disagreements forgotten and the like. Manipulation, nonetheless."  
  
"Creating the perfect world for herself." Spike pursed his lips. "When confronted with it, she declared that she wasn't doing anything wrong, she just wanted everyone to be happy."  
  
"Quite. She swore she didn't need her magic, could stop anytime she chose. She just didn't choose to and resented the implications we were presenting her with. Then shortly after the car accident, Joyce forbade her from being anywhere near Dawn. Buffy backed her mother up; it was a rather ugly scene. They didn't' speak for some time, I thought things were actually on the mend a month or two ago, but then the incident with Warren and Tara taking the bullet that he meant for Buffy." Giles shook his head, sadness creasing the corners of his eyes. "Willow blamed Buffy for it. Blamed her for being incapable of preventing it. Blamed her for "forcing" Willow to give up the magic that might have prevented it."  
  
Both men sighed.  
  
"Ugly situation."  
  
"And getting uglier by the day. She also hasn't forgiven Buffy for trying to stop her revenge on Warren."  
  
"Well, the bloke killed her mate, I can see why the witch would be furious. Still, she and the Slayer are on the road towards becoming mortal enemies. This does not bode well."  
  
"No, it doesn't. Buffy can't bring herself to fight Willow, either. She blames herself and unfortunately, she seems to develop these funks of guilt, which immobilize her. I'm just worried she won't break out of this one before she has to confront Willow."  
  
"There's still a chance that once the witch calms down," Spike offered. "She might be more amenable to talking, to proper training to harness her emotions so they don't send her spiraling out of control."  
  
"I rather doubt that. She left a message for Buffy on the front porch three nights ago."  
  
"A message?"  
  
"Four burning vampires and a note." Giles replied. "One vampire for each life Buffy is responsible for. One vampire for each of the times it should have been Buffy and not an innocent. Her world view is narrowing."  
  
"Four?" Spike frowned.  
  
"The first was Jessie, a boy Buffy encountered around the same time she met Willow. She was unable to save him from the Master and later he was one of those staked during the Harvest. The second was Oz; he was a victim of the Initiative before Buffy was fully aware of Riley's connections. She was too late to prevent their culling. The third would be Xander, the young man Buffy was dating and who was close to both she and Willow. Glory left him as a message for Buffy in her bed. The last, would of course, be Tara."  
  
"The git?" Spike blinked, riveted to the idea that Buffy and Xander -- he shook his head. It was implausible as hell. This was part of his wish? Another facet?  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Silence fell between them, both staring at the papers amassed on the table with introspection. "Right then," Spike finally broke the silence. "I had best get to work. I'll need a spell to incapacitate her as well as a few other things. You have some of her personal items?"  
  
  
  
  
  
2.1.2.3 Beauty and the Beast  
  
The air felt heavy, oppressive. Rain was coming. Buffy followed the familiar beaten path of her patrol through Sunnydale. It was quiet though, almost too quiet. But her memories told her that the quiet had been in place for months. Helpful things, these memories, piping up at just the right moments to fill in the blanks.  
  
She glanced towards the road and half wondered if there was a world beyond the pocket universe they'd created in Sunnydale. Was it all really some blank oblivion that wouldn't appear until they wandered through it?  
  
Blank oblivion. Wouldn't that be apropos? Rubbing a hand against her temple, the headache that seemed to be hovering behind her eyes since her "arrival" hadn't improved with her nap. Very little seemed to have improved since she'd gone to try and sort this all out. Her dreams plagued her, dazzling with visions of darkness and pain.  
  
Maybe that was just life. Darkness and pain.  
  
Twirling her stake in her fingertips, she strolled through the cemetery. A good fight would help right now, a nice vampire to stake. Something neat, clean and fitting perfectly in with what she was supposed to be doing as opposed to making moral decisions in the middle of crises.  
  
"Slayer?"  
  
She jumped and whipped around, stake at ready. "Spike! What are you doing here? Don't you have research to be doing or something?"  
  
He shrugged some, hands tucking into the trousers of his slacks. "We knocked off for the evening. I've got a bit of planning to do. Your mum told us you'd slipped out to do the patrolling, so I figured to find you here."  
  
Buffy sighed and sat down on a crypt stone. "This is so wrong."  
  
"Actually, this is the first familiar thing we've done here." Spike grinned crookedly, but then nodded. "But I know what you mean. The half-memories are driving me loony."  
  
"You too?"  
  
"Yeah." He sat down next to her and they both stared off into the night. "Had a long talk with Rupert. Decent enough fellow and that's the odd thing, before, he was just a nuisance, intelligent and useful, but a nuisance. Now I find myself, actually admiring him." Spike patted his chest. "Me, admiring him. Go figure."  
  
Buffy's mouth quirked into the forerunner of a smile. "Well, you do have that Giles Jr. thing going on, kinda like Randy revisit only without the tweed."  
  
Wheeling his head around. "Giles Jr.? I think not! This suit is one hundred percent silk and I'm not a puffering Nancy boy." His tone softened at her giggle. "Besides, I'm better looking. Charming too." That earned him a rare, real laugh. "That's really good to hear."  
  
"Hmm?" Buffy glanced up at him, still smiling.  
  
"The sound of your laughter. I've missed it."  
  
She sobered slowly, her eyes meeting and holding his. Their eyes searched each others, constantly seeking answers that neither had the words to ask. She lifted her hand to touch his face, a light touch, just the tips trailing down over his cheek. "I have to keep reminding myself this is real."  
  
Bending his head down, he whispered. "Why?"  
  
"Because it feels real and it doesn't at the same time." Her voice possessed the same breathy whisper of his. "It's...strange."  
  
"Strange good...or strange bad?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
The corner of his mouth turned upwards, the deprecating smile returning, tinged with amusement. "That sounds about right for you, Slayer. So I don't think you have anything to worry about."  
  
"Funny." She sounded amused though. They sat there together, in companionable silence, listening to the night as it went about its business.  
  
"Well, I should let you get to it. I've some work to do myself." Spike said after a while.  
  
"Okie. I'll see you tomorrow then?" Her voice carried the request and hope together in it.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Good night, William."  
  
He chuckled at that. "Good night, Slayer."  
  
She watched him stroll out of the cemetery. There was something different about the way he moved, she watched him reach the gate, let himself out and then disappear up the sidewalk. He was strolling. No swagger, no cocky balderdash, just straight strolling. How very odd. Buffy grinned in spite of herself. She liked that stroll, that casual, out for the evening air. He was relaxed, comfortable.  
  
Still smiling as she turned her heart slammed into her ribs as she ran smack into Willow. "Woah!" Buffy backed up a pace or two. Willow's eyes weren't jet black, but her expression wasn't exactly hugs and kittens either.  
  
"Hello, Buffy." Willow chirped with a half-smile. "Out-patrolling? Or maybe that's -- out trolling?"  
  
"Willow." Buffy said her name slowly, memories of threats collided with warmer, fuzzier memories of late nights with hot cocoa and good girl talk. "Just out patrolling. Looking for a vamp to stake. You know, same old, same old."  
  
"Yes, same old Buffy. Lose one man, hop in bed with another." Willow's lips curled into a sneering smile. "Didn't think I noticed the little blond you were just with? What's his name? Or do you even care?"  
  
Buffy stared at her. This wasn't her Willow. This Willow was cold and mean.  
  
"Oh, am I going to make you cry?" Willow could have given Cordy a run for her money on snarkiness. "Too bad, poor little Buffy, all alone and downtrodden. Really just sucks to be you, doesn't it?"  
  
"Look, Will," Buffy offered.  
  
"No, you look." Willow rose off the ground by a few inches, the breeze stirring up her hair. "I'm so tired of poor, pathetic Buffy, whoa is her and the weight of the world. Everything is ALWAYS about you. You don't care about the people around you, the people who die for you or because of you. It's always about you and how bad you feel or how put upon you are or how desperately you want to be normal. Well sing me a new song, because you've worn out that tired old tune."  
  
"I'm not trying to apologize here."  
  
"Good." Willow's eyes darkened and Buffy could feel the energy crackling along her skin. "Because I don't want your apologies. I don't want to hear your reasons and I sure as hell don't want to hear your excuses."  
  
"Okay, so this is all about you now." Buffy braced herself, she hated this, she hated the fear and she hated the indecision. But if Willow wanted to play uber-bitch, then Buffy would play along. How could they have come to this, best friends, they confided in each other about everything.  
  
Well, almost everything, Buffy amended to herself. Willow certainly hadn't confessed about the footsie she was playing with Xander in senior year. Willow wasn't terribly forthcoming about Tara either. There were a handful of other occasions she could think of, when they were both keeping things to themselves. But otherwise, they were open books. Reasonably open.  
  
"So?" Buffy asked her, still braced and waiting. If it came down to skills against skill, Buffy needed to take her out fast, or she was going to lose. She'd gone up against magic too many times with bad results to want to take her chances.  
  
Willow's smile turned cooler, crueler and altogether unpleasant. "So, I brought you a present. Because we're such good old friends, that I didn't want you to think I wasn't making an effort on your behalf."  
  
Something in her expression chilled Buffy to her toes. "Present?"  
  
"Yeah, the idea of it came to me all of a sudden." Her eyes somehow reverted to normal and her feet touched the ground. She laughed, that kind of goofy half-snort, half-giggle that was so Willow. Buffy allowed herself a smile at the enthusiasm and genuine warmth she heard peppering the redhead's words. "So, I was thinking to myself -- I said, "Self, we have to do something about Buffy. Something she would never expect. Something she's wanted forever, but couldn't ever have." And myself, well I thought about it and I replied, "I know exactly what to get her." And then it told me and it was so right, it's the absolute perfect present for you."  
  
"Will, you're scaring me."  
  
"No, that part comes later."  
  
"After what?"  
  
A figure moved out from beneath the trees behind Willow, looming over her and grinning with a rakish charm. "After me, of course."  
  
"Here's your present, Buffy. Buffy meant Angelus. Angelus, meet the Slayer."  
  
"It's a real," he growled. "Pleasure."  
  
  
  
2.1.2.4 Snow White  
  
  
  
Spike strolled up to the hotel that his memories told him he was booked into. He dug around in his pockets and fished out a key. Tossing it up into the air and catching it, Spike felt a small grin tug at the corners of his mouth. This reality was disconcerting, but at least it was far more accommodating than the other. The lobby was quiet, a delicate musical piece filtered through the surreptiously placed speakers. Tchaikovsky, if Spike recalled his composers. (Since William was a classical freak, he most certainly could recall them.) It lacked something; the quiet strings being played at a muted level that the orchestra could enliven it with.  
  
The thick, plush carpeting decorating the lobby was somewhat Oriental in nature. He slowed his step to turn in a small circle, examining it. No, not Oriental, far too synthetic in the design and patterns to be true Oriental. Definitely with an Asian influence, however. The wing backed Victorian chairs were not out of place, but their muted earth tones softened their appearance, blending them into the quiet splendor of this restful abode.  
  
Spike grinned in spite of himself. There was a certain amount of fascination with his ability to authenticate the "antiques" decorating the lobby. Culture and education weren't as important to him as they used to be, but this William was a devout follower of the educational religion. He immersed himself in a wealth of knowledge; it was almost like having a walking, talking Giles in his head.  
  
Laughing out loud now, Spike pivoted on his heel and strode towards the pair of elevators. He could use a shower, a change of clothes, perhaps a shave, then ring down for a cuppa to be sent up. Yes, that is exactly what he would do, and then it would be time to crack the books and start composing the spell to neutralize the witch.  
  
He checked his memory again before selecting a floor. Then hummed quietly along with the classical bars of music as the elevator rose swiftly to the fourth floor. Suddenly, he felt altogether at home in this dimension. He had a purpose, he was able to help Buffy, and there were perks to being something of a wizard with knowledge and a wizard with magic. She wouldn't have to worry about facing down Willow and he'd get the kick out of knowing he saved the day.  
  
Admittedly, the last was a bit selfish. But it might make up for the mistakes he made on the Tower. He couldn't save her then, because he'd lost that battle. Well, he thought to himself as he inserted the key into the lock, he certainly didn't plan to lose this time. He was still humming as he closed and secured the door behind him. He deposited the key on the small table beside the bed. The room was a modest accommodation, but certainly comfortable enough to meet his needs.  
  
He loosened his tie and tugged off the jacket. His very practical suitcase rested on a stand at the end of the bed, with his even more practical trunk resting on the floor beside it. The trunk would contain all of his supplies, his mediums and a book or two on the subjects most pertinent to his journey. It also contained his dispatches from the Council, private correspondence and one or two demon traps. Altogether, both cases were sealed with a magical incantation, designed to keep out unwanted fingers and discourage them from even thinking about it in the first place.  
  
"Neat." Spike remarked to himself as he regarded the suitcases. He really was a bit of a clever bastard. He started rolling up the sleeves on his shirt and tried to determine if he wanted to order up a bit of food to go with the tea. The hair along the back of his neck prickled, cold shivers of warning caressing down his spine. Spike let his gaze rest on the phone, as though still amidst his earlier contemplation, meanwhile his other senses extended to the room around him.  
  
Something was wrong.  
  
"Oh. Oh. Oh." A soft, delicate voice shivered delightfully. The dulcet tones evoked pleasure and terror in equal measures as he let his eyes leave the phone to travel to the entrance to the loo. She was standing there, framed in the doorway. Her doll like face was rapturous with a simple smile. The long white dress suited her, child like and graceful. "Someone knows he's got a visitor."  
  
"Hello, Drusilla." Calmly, he must deal with this calmly.  
  
Her hands clapped together, delighted. "Oh, he knows me, he knows me." She sing-songed. "I dreamt about you, I knew you were coming. Knew that we were supposed to dance. Dance, the stars and the night, fire and light, blood and bones. My beautiful effulgent one." She was swaying in the doorway, all dark writhing appeal and child like innocence rolled into a devastating package of destruction and death.  
  
God how he'd love that about her.  
  
"Why are you here Drusilla?" How calm and confident his voice sounded. There were no pauses for hesitation, no worries or fears creeping into its tone. His voice was his strength, he knew her, she may have dreamt about him, but he knew her.  
  
"Daddy said I could get a new toy. New toy. Daddy comes home and I get a present." Again she clapped her hands, devilish joy shining in her eyes. "Daddy comes home and I get a present. I've missed my Daddy so much, so much. Grand mummy was no fun after Daddy went away and left me all lonely. So lonely, but not lonely anymore." She was drifting from the doorway now, a vision in white slowly crossing the room to join him. "No more lonely."  
  
"Stop, Drusilla." The first word contained power, but the third evoked further as he used her name for the third time. A measure of defense spells sprung to mind as he seized the chains of energy that were already in place in the room. They resisted the pull of his mind and his will, he was bloody well surprised he could do it and realized that the resistance was because he didn't quite believe he could. His mind ordered him to be quiet as his instincts reacted.  
  
"Oooh." She was frozen in place, locked by the magic that was even now writhing around her. She clucked her tongue lightly. "Naughty, naughty." Then with almost inhuman speed she interrupted the spell on his lips by seizing his lapels and throwing him across the room where he rebounded off the wall and sent a lamp crashing down.  
  
Something inside his chest popped painfully and black stars dazzled his eyes. The interruption freed her from the trap spell and she was already swaying towards him. Humming one of her little songs, like she always did when she was hunting and enjoying herself. There was a rapturous ness to her expression, one he was altogether too familiar with, but never from this perspective.  
  
Pushing himself up on hand, he extended the other. "Ak-a dah!" He intoned, the words filling with force and exploding across the room to catch her like a giant hand. "Ed-x-tah!" The second words suffused the fist with force, flinging her as easily as it grasped her and she crashed through the glass windows and fell four stories.  
  
He'd just bought himself a little time.  
  
He pushed himself to his feet, breath hissing at the pain that wrapped itself around his chest. He stumbled over to the trunk and flipped it open. Gathering up a few items, he snagged his jacket and stumbled towards the door. "Claudite." He ordered the trunk and it fell close, latching with the protection spells snapping into place. He cocked his head right, then left.  
  
Listening.  
  
Stuffing his pockets with the items he'd purloined from the chest, he shook open one that was filled with a dull, gray powder. He started to step further into the hall when she appeared at the top of the stair well. Dark death on two legs. She streaked down the hallway towards him as he flung the gray powder into the air in front of her.  
  
"Inflammite!"  
  
Her screams ignited with her clothing and she clawed at herself. Wailing she rushed past him and down the other stairwell at the opposite end. The illusion would hold her for a while. He felt a brief moment of regret for causing her such agony. Burning was not a pleasant experience for a vampire and if they survived it, the mental and physical scars could be brutal.  
  
He stared after her for a long moment, and then hissed out another pained breath. Drusilla said Daddy was home. Daddy could only mean one person.  
  
"Angelus." He had to find Buffy.  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Buffy flung herself over the stone crypt and hit the ground running. She could hear him behind her, eating up the ground that separated him. There was a moment's passing wind and she jerked herself sideways to avoid the tackle.  
  
Spinning, she caught him on the up rise with a boot to the face. He fell backwards and snarled. God this couldn't be happening again. It was like a nightmare resurfacing and threatening to destroy her all over again. He struck, she blocked. She struck and he reeled.  
  
She was faster, some part of her mind acknowledged; faster and far more skilled than the last time they'd confronted one another. Blows were exchanged, faster and more furious. She felt his hand slap off the side of her face and the pain behind her eyes exploded.  
  
Two realities bled into one as she fought him hand-to-hand and in another time, sword to sword.  
  
"Take away her friends, take away her family and what's left?" He was snarling in some pained mimicry of those alien words from years ago.  
  
Her fist caught him square in the groin and her spinning kick sent him tumbling.  
  
"Me." Buffy retorted. The world was swimming around her and she was forced to shake her head. She needed to stay in the here and now. Angelus was already regaining his feet.  
  
"How?" She asked him slowly as they circled each other in their dance of death and fury.  
  
Angelus grinned and postured. He loved to tell a good story, especially if it meant inflicting some kind of wound. She remembered that all to well about him. "Well you see that's the beauty of it. The witch knew all about my.." he spit the word. "Love for you. She used that to make a glamour and came to me, all repentant and remorseful." He barked out laughter. "Imagine that, you repentant and remorseful. You hated that you loved me. You still hate that you love me. The Slayer loving the vampire she's supposed to stake. Oh, the irony."  
  
"So Willow pulled an old Jedi mind trick and soon you're doing the horizontal bingo." Buffy sneered a little. "I can see true love in that. True happiness."  
  
"It worked didn't it?" Angelus spread his hands and fanged a grin. "Here I am and there you are and well, we can't have that."  
  
"You're right. One of us needs to go." Buffy agreed and they met with another flurry of blows. The world tipped topsy turvey and a momentary dizziness let her meet his fist smack in the face. She slammed into the ground and felt the air explode out of her lungs. This was stupid, she could beat him. What the hell was she doing? Why didn't anything make sense? The cemetery vanished to become the mansion and then back to the cemetery again.  
  
Angelus paused, looming over her. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"You're worst nightmare." Spike declared and then something flew at Angelus. "Inflammite!" The vampire shrieked like he'd been scalded and darted away from them, clawing at himself frenetically.  
  
Buffy rolled over and looked up at Spike who was standing there, disheveled, face bruised and looking like the single most beautiful sight she had ever seen. He glanced down at her and held out his hand.  
  
"How did you do that?" She asked as she reached upwards.  
  
"Magic." He responded, clasping her smaller hand in his and pulling her to her feet. "It won't last long, we need to get off the street and regroup."  
  
"That was -- "  
  
"I know who that was, luv. Knew him quite a bit longer than you did."  
  
"What happened to you?"  
  
"Drusilla." He grunted and together they started back across the cemetery, both casting wary glances around and the stake she'd been unable to draw before fell into her fingers from its jacket hiding spot.  
  
"Oh, this gets better and better."  
  
  
  
2.1.2.5 Mirror, Mirror  
  
  
  
"So, that's all of it, up to this point?" Giles asked, chewing on the tip of his glasses. He was leaning on the counter in the kitchen of the Summer's home. His brow was deeply furrowed, but he'd listened to their entire explanation without interruption.  
  
"Yep." Buffy nodded. "Spike made a wish and then we were here."  
  
Spike sat opposite her at the table. He was pressing a cold compress to his jaw, which ached from the impact with the wall earlier. He'd grudgingly agreed to explain everything to Giles at Buffy's insistence. They needed the older man's input at this point and he wasn't going to be able to give him his best if they didn't give him all the information.  
  
His jaw ached like the blazes and his chest wasn't feeling much better. There was a faint ringing in his ears and he knew the evocations from earlier were going to come back to haunt him. There was something else about his new form that was giving him problems, the conscious morality of all his choices were being weighed and measured by the being whose form he'd assumed. The William of this reality wholly disapproved of any number of decision that he'd made, but the worst it seemed to feel was the use of the wish for personal satisfaction and gain.  
  
It wasn't precisely about personal satisfaction, he argued with himself. The wish involved Buffy and trying to build a better world for her equally. A world where she could be happier. But that wasn't the exact specification of the wish, now was it, his internal voice argued right back. The specifications were that the world allow them to be together without Buffy's moral ambiguities getting in the way. Pretty damn selfish wouldn't you say? Shut up, he growled at the book trawler. That would be Mr. Wizard Book Trawler to you, bloodsucker.  
  
"Bloody Hell!" He swore out loud, slamming a hand down against the table and shattering the silence between the three of them.  
  
"What?" Buffy was looking at him askance.  
  
"I'm bloody well arguing with myself now." Spike sounded disgruntled, his voice waxed and wavered between the cultured accent and the more common that he usually sported.  
  
"Arguing with yourself?" Giles regarded Spike with speculation.  
  
"It's the memories, like the Slayer was telling you." He groused and returned the compress to his jaw.  
  
"See now that's the part that I'm struggling with. You both have memories of your lives "here" in this reality that you say isn't the one you actually know, at the same time you still have the memories of the world you left behind. Correct?"  
  
"Yes." Buffy settled on the simplest answer. His summary was more or less correct. "It's unnerving and it's not like I can sit here and just tell you everything that happened here, but if I think about it, then I get a memories, almost wholly intact of everything that's happened with regard to a specific event."  
  
"And the events of both realities are somewhat out of sync with each other?" Giles continued, chewing more thoroughly on the tip of his glasses. "There are large discrepancies and smaller discrepancies?"  
  
"That about sums it up." It was Spike who answered this time. "Like Dru being here. Which I don't get, she didn't come to Sunnydale until I brought her because she needed to recover from an attack in Prague. And Angelus, he didn't become Angelus until he and the Slayer got fresh."  
  
Buffy looked away and sighed deeply. "And that was four years ago, Xander isn't dead, but my mom is and Tara too. Just...so much of this place doesn't make sense. I was brought back from the dead and I didn't seem able to feel anything. I don't think anyone understood how numb I was or how desperate I was to understand why I felt nothing. No one understood," she hesitated and then glanced over at Spike. "Except for Spike. And I've spent the last year trying to figure out what the heck I did wrong and everything was going to hell...then the wish and now...now I feel everything. I feel it so deeply, it hurts. And the pain is getting worse."  
  
Spike frowned and sat forward, looking at Buffy curiously across the table. "You've been in pain?"  
  
"Yes, my headache, it's just getting worse with every passing moment. I kept trying to fight passing out when I was fighting Angelus. It's how he got the upper hand."  
  
"All right," Giles interrupted them and moved away from the counter. "I hope you both realize you sound daft, but we'll assume that what you are saying is the absolute truth, then I think I know what the problem is."  
  
"What?" Spike and Buffy asked in unison.  
  
"We know there are alternate realities, dozens of them, like layers upon layers existing in harmony and tandem with each other. Mystically speaking, if you place two mirrors facing each other, there will be layer upon layer of reflections spiraling down into each image." Giles paced slowly as he explained. "This reality could quite possibly just be another mirrored alternate of the reality you live in. The Hellmouth offers a variety of opportunities to open portals into other dimensions and this vengeance demon..."  
  
"Anya." Buffy supplied.  
  
"Anya, simply opened the portal to allow you admittance to this dimension, but the parameters of this...'wish' didn't include forgetting what you knew before, and both of you existed here. Hmm." Giles frowned and tucked his glasses back into place on his face. He went past them to the sideboard, which was covered with books and searched through them.  
  
"We're existing in tandem with the souls that were already here." Spike announced suddenly even as an internal voice smirked at him. Bingo, bloodsucker. My world, my body and you moved in uninvited and unannounced. But we're the same, Spike countered. To a point, the voice responded. But my knowledge is far more expansive than yours in some areas, yours in others. We're blending fairly well, that would make sense because our differences allow us to find the commonalities with ease. The Slayer isn't so lucky.  
  
"Precisely," Giles nodded as he flipped through one of the books. "Ah, here we are. It's explained here in the Tome of D'aless. Two souls who occupy the same form must merge or one must be rejected and destroyed. In essence, you are possessing these host bodies."  
  
Buffy blinked at him. "Come again?"  
  
"You're possessing the bodies you are in. Their souls are still there; their memories and they are trying to exist as you are. The problem is that physics applies to souls as well, two souls cannot occupy the same place at the same time."  
  
"But Angel was ensouled and his demon existed together, didn't they?" Buffy frowned, trying to remember.  
  
"Yes, they do -- or at least they did. Ms. Calendar explained the curse that was used in some detail which as you -- well which as part of you will remember included expanding the power of Angel's soul to overwhelm the demon and keep it in check. But my research indicates that they did something more than that. They were giving Angel's human soul dominance over the demon, but I think the two could be merged in a positive way, which would in turn invalidate the curse."  
  
Buffy blinked. "I know that you just said something positive about Angel, but it's really escaping me at the moment."  
  
"Don't worry about it Slayer. Basically, the old poof is telling us we've possessed these bodies like intruders and in my case, William isn't struggling so much as we're working together on the levels we can. You're fighting yours, aren't you?" Spike was eyeing her, because he knew a great deal about Buffy's psyche.  
  
"And that also makes a great deal of sense," Giles agreed with Spike and now both of them focused their gazes on Buffy. "You've been one of the most uncooperative children I ever worked with. You have always refused to follow convention or the rules."  
  
"I really don't think we need to review my past history at the moment." Buffy felt uncomfortable. She was possessing herself, taking over herself and taking away all the choices she would usually have. She was the Outsider, the intruder, no better than a demon really.  
  
"Actually, we do need to explore this avenue, Buffy. Whether you want to admit it or not, you've spent years avoiding who you are and what you are. You're still doing it to one extent or another. A large portion of what disturbs you is related to being what you are."  
  
"We've covered that ground before, Giles. We've been covering it since we met. I'm the Slayer, the one girl in all the world -- "  
  
"Correction." Giles interrupted. "You were. When you died at the hands of the Master, I think something altogether other happened at that point. I've speculated for years on it, but I've never had any concrete evidence. Every prophecy involving the Slayer after that incident has never applied to you, those events have never come to pass. I must wonder, if in your world, if you died as you said and that Willow brought you back, it altered reality even further." Giles sat down slowly at the table.  
  
Spike reached up to scratch the back of his neck as he pondered Giles' words, the voice inside him was silent and contemplative as well. It seemed on to something, but it wanted a few more minutes to think it through. Buffy didn't want to have this conversation and seemed to be keeping herself in place by force of will alone. "Bloody hell," Spike spoke aloud without realizing it as the voice inside him proffered a theory and it stunned him.  
  
"What? And would you stop with the melodramatics already?" Buffy glared at him weakly. "It's giving my heart a lurch every time you do that."  
  
"Sorry," he sounded contrite, but then leaned forward and set the compress on the table. "Mirror universes, alternate versions and the changing of reality by a single event or a wish or a desire, it's all more or less a part of the law of paradoxes."  
  
"Go on." Giles urged him.  
  
"We've established we're probably possessing the people who exist in this reality, this opportunity that I was looking for. William concurs with that, the problem here is that Buffy is also possessing herself and when Willow worked her mojo to bring Buffy back from the dead -- never mind, it's probably just poppycock."  
  
"No, I think you're on to something there. The disconnection, the loss -- " Giles turned a speculative glance on Buffy. "All right, this is what we are going to do. There are rituals specifically designed for Slayers. When they become out of control or lost, the rituals help them regain focus."  
  
"My spirit guide." Buffy said quietly.  
  
"You've done this before then?" Giles looked mildly surprised.  
  
"Yes. Do you think it will help? I mean we've got Willow playing the Wicked Witch of the West with Angelus and Drusilla as lackies, I really don't think we have time to travel into the desert for a mystical sit-down and jaw." Buffy's pained expression was growing more pinched.  
  
"I don't think we have any choice," Spike said quietly. "We've got to figure this out, especially if we're going to survive here or try to go back. Either way, we need to know." He reached over the table and covered her hands with his own. "I know you're scared, but you don't have to do this alone. I've got your back, remember?"  
  
The quiet lingered for a long time as they gazed at each other. Giles observed all of it with a quiet aplomb.  
  
"All right." Buffy said slowly, finally. "We'll do it. Just tell me what I need to do."  
  
"Go get yourself cleaned up and into some comfortable clothing, this could take a while and you don't want to be constricted." Giles advised. Buffy nodded, pulling her hands from Spike's and leaving the room. Giles turned his speculative look back to the young man. "It's very difficult to imagine you as a vampire."  
  
"I suppose. I'm a bit different this way."  
  
"Do we get on?"  
  
"No." Spike smiled slightly. "You can't stand me."  
  
"That makes sense, I suppose. Vampires are not terrifically high on my list. Yet, you and Buffy seem very close. There's a great deal of irony in that." Giles scratched his chin briefly, and then shook his head. "Ah well, after all these years on the Hellmouth, very little surprises me anymore."  
  
The backdoor exploded inwards and Willow's form filled it.  
  
"Then I guess I shouldn't bother with Boo, huh?"  
  
  
  
2.1.2.6 Rose Red  
  
"Willow." Giles gazed at her, his expression unreadable. Spike was already on his feet, his fingers delving into the pocket of his jacket. Both men assumed positions that were roughly relative to the backdoor and would put them directly in her path should she try to blow past them.  
  
"Giles." She smiled at him, almost fondly. "I just wanted to come by for a chat, some of your tea and more of your sanctimonious advice."  
  
"Somehow, I rather doubt that." Giles countered. "I would also recommend that you do not impinge on our welcome further. It wouldn't be good for your health."  
  
Willow laughed silkily. "Imagine that, Mr. Righteous and Proper threatening me. Haven't we known each other far too long for that Giles? And don't you know by now that you are no match for me?" She put her foot forward then hissed, as it seemed stuck, poised in the air. Her eyes flickered down to the floor, and then back to Giles who merely regarded her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers.  
  
"We've known each other for a long time, yes." Giles conceded gently. "And I must admit I never dreamed it would come to this."  
  
"Nice spell. Been taking lessons?" Her face squinted with effort as she tried to push against the invisible force that bound her back.  
  
"What do you want Willow?" Giles ignored her barbs and continued to regard her steadily. Spike remained silent, choosing for the moment to allow Giles to handle the witch. His counterpart agreed with the tactic. Neither was fully positive of what she was capable of in this state, better to get the lay of the land first.  
  
"As I said, I just wanted to come by for a chat." Her lower lip jutted out to form a bit of a pout. "Don't you believe me?"  
  
"No." Giles smiled slightly and was rewarded by her darkening expression. "Willow, if you would only look at what you are doing, we might be able to talk. But you are too consumed by this twisted need for vengeance."  
  
"TWISTED?" Willow looked wounded and furious in the same instant. "What's twisted is forgiving Buffy over and over again! What's twisted is pretending we're friends when all she really cares about is herself! What's twisted is that she brought this nightmare to Sunnydale and made us all a part of it, willing sacrifices to her solo party act. That's what's twisted and you're all twisted into it with her."  
  
"No one forced you, Willow. In fact, as I recall, I heavily discouraged your involvement. The work of the Slayer is not for others; sometimes even the Slayer cannot bear up to the darkness that consumes them and the people around them. I warned you about you dabbles with magic and you're consorting with powers you could not begin to comprehend much less control." He sounded so profoundly disappointed and the disappointment showed in his expression.  
  
Willow snorted. "Of course you did, you have a clear conscience. Well let me tell you something Watcher. I'm the one you need to be worried about now. I may be consorting with powers that you could not possibly comprehend, but trust me, I comprehend them just fine. So word of warning, don't piss me off."  
  
"Go, Willow." Giles said quietly. "Go now."  
  
Her malice turned to startlement as the force that held her at the door pushed her out it and the door slammed in the face of her protests. The house shook as magic slammed into the shielding around it and Joyce appeared in the doorway, pale and frowning.  
  
"It's all right," Giles assured her as he turned. "It's a mirror, the more she throws at it, the more will slap her in the face. If we're lucky, she'll incapacitate herself for the night." He pulled off his glasses and started to polish them, giving Joyce a comforting smile.  
  
"You're sure?" She asked.  
  
Spike was slowly descending back into the chair, not remotely mollified by what he'd witnessed. His counterpart was examining the shielding that would shimmer to visible sight with each blast that rocked it from the outside. It was a pyrotechnic display of careful control and absolute focus. An amateur could create the exact kind of shield, but the focused mind could strengthen it quite significantly. The simplicity of its design was exactly what made it so powerful.  
  
He was impressed. On all counts. Who knew the old poofer had it in him? He cast a glance towards the pair who's heads were together, murmuring quietly. The rightness of the match struck him, there was a singularity of purpose that Giles lacked before and there was a quiet peace to Joyce that he'd rarely seen in the other world.  
  
It was good to see her so happy, despite the dark clouds that were brewing on the horizon. They had each other and it seemed enough to comfort them. He wanted that. What? His counterpart queried. The comfort, he replied internally. The peace. The purpose. Ah, his counterpart nodded somewhat absently. The unselfish love that accepts exactly what is offered and builds from there. He could love Buffy like that; he could open himself up to it. He could stop trying to change her to be something to hold onto.  
  
A frown furrowed his brow as he contemplated this latest revelation. How much of it was him and how much of it the other? Hard to tell, his counterpart replied. We're blending tighter and tighter. Even the more animal instincts, kill it and ask questions later doesn't seem as anathema to me as it has before. Spike grunted and felt his gaze tugged to the door as Buffy padded back inside, barefoot and dressed in a pair of comfortable pajamas.  
  
She looked so utterly small, incomparably beautiful and quite frankly the strongest person he'd ever known. He pressed his knuckles to his lips as he considered her. She smiled at Giles and Joyce and seemed as enchanted by their closeness as he was. They could have all of this here. If you survive, his counterpart amended, what is to come.  
  
He nodded somewhat to himself and felt himself further tugged from his reverie as Giles spoke his name again. "Pardon, I was woolgathering." Woolgathering? He demanded of his counterpart. It's what we were doing, he responded tartly.  
  
"We're going to begin. I'll need your help to make sure the shields are re- enforced every where, especially around the basement."  
  
"Going to earth?"  
  
"In a manner of speaking."  
  
"You ready for this Slayer?" He looked at Buffy, trying to catch her gaze in his. She avoided looking at him directly, which answered the question more clearly than her words.  
  
"Ready as I'll ever be."  
  
Giles nodded, and then opened the door to the basement. "Let's get started then." The three descended into the basement and the door closed behind them.  
  
  
  
3 WINTER WHITE  
  
3.1.1.1 Hazy Shade  
  
Buffy descended the steps into the basement. She'd never really cared for the basement with its faintly dusty appearance and dark pools of shadows. It didn't frighten her, that would be awfully silly after everything she'd seen and done in her life, for a little thing like a basement to scare her. Yet a chill of apprehension swept up her spine.  
  
There was such a thing as going from a frying pan into a fire. That was what she'd done when they came to this place. She couldn't blame Spike and she wouldn't. She'd agreed to this wish before he'd even made it. He'd also done it with good intentions.  
  
The thought brought her up short as she hesitated near the steps. Spike and Giles were conferring about something, and then drawing marks on the concrete floor with chalk. Her eyes skimmed around the basement and the lack of any signs of water damage. Her mouth twisted a bit. Apparently this basement never flooded, just another little inconsistency.  
  
Flicking her gaze back to Spike, she watched him bob his head at something Giles said. He'd had good intentions. All year long, he'd shown her good intentions. Even when she didn't agree with his actions or approve of them. There were good intentions; she'd just ignored them because it was easier to believe he just wanted something for himself.  
  
Maybe, she thought slowly, maybe that was where she'd been wrong.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
"Huh?" She looked over at Giles who was beckoning her to where he was standing.  
  
"We're ready."  
  
"Oh." She pushed up from the step she'd sat down on without thinking and moved towards the markings. "Here?" She asked, standing in the middle of a chalk drawn circle.  
  
"Yes, that's fine. Now, I want you to sit down, this is going to take a few moments and you might get disoriented." Giles explained.  
  
"Oh, how keen." She quipped weakly and sat down only to find Spike kneeling in front of her. She met his eyes with a small smile. "So, you're like Mr. Magic Man, now?"  
  
"Something like that," he said quietly. "Are you sure you want to do this?"  
  
"No." Buffy answered honestly. "But I have to do it anyway."  
  
He smiled a little. "If I'd known..."  
  
"It's okay. We couldn't have known -- well, maybe we should have. We both seem to have this bad habit of trying to change the world around us because we think we should be or have something else." And that was true, Buffy realized. It was the way she'd lived her life for the last several years, trying desperately to be something other than what she was.  
  
"We still have a chance here though." Spike was an eternal optimist. Buffy almost laughed out loud. He really was an optimist. Wasn't that just the strangest thing?  
  
"We're ready, Wil--Spik-- what do you want me to call you?" Giles interrupted them.  
  
"Spike's fine." He straightened and stood up then stepped back over the chalk markings without disturbing them.  
  
"All right, Spike. You know what you need to do?"  
  
"One of us does, yeah." He ran his fingers through his hair and then took the book that Giles proffered. Giles moved back towards the circle and took a place opposite Buffy. Spike looked as though he would rather be there, but Buffy knew it needed to be Giles.  
  
He was her Watcher.  
  
They mumbled something in Latin or maybe it was Greek. She wasn't sure. The world took on that shimmery appearance, like the night she'd cast that spell to find out if magic was affecting her mother. Just thinking about that time brought up a well of grief in her chest and it nearly choked her. The world spun away, like fragile tendrils of a web and with it Giles and Spike.  
  
She was standing alone, in the desert. She knew this place.  
  
Spinning around, Buffy looked across the miles and miles of yellow-dunned sand. She did know this place.  
  
The grief was still there, but somehow it wasn't choking her as it had moments before. She felt, peaceful, free. Chewing her lip, she turned again in a small circle. She couldn't seem to remember why she was here.  
  
But she did know this place and then just as surely knew she wasn't alone anymore.  
  
3.1.1.2 In the Shade  
  
"Why are you here?" Buffy asked, staring at the man standing there silently regarding her.  
  
"Because you need to deal with me before you can deal with the rest of this." Angel replied quietly. "Deal with it and get past it."  
  
"Oh, that's rich." Buffy glared around at the distance and started shouting. "What is this? A joke? I got locked into some mystical AA meeting for the rejected losers at love?"  
  
"Buffy," Angel said quietly. "It doesn't work that way."  
  
"Oh yeah? Well since you're all cool, Mr. Know-Everything, why don't you tell me how it works?" She meant for her words to sting and not for her voice to catch and close on a choked sob.  
  
He cocked his head at her, his hands were folded together in front of him and it seemed strange to be standing out in the middle of the blazing desert sun and staring at him.  
  
"Shouldn't you be all bursty into flames right about now, anyway?"  
  
He sighed. "You're not going to make this easy."  
  
"Why should I make it easy? You want easy? Like when you just sailed out of Sunnydale and to hell with what happened to me? Or maybe you want to just go on with my life and forget everything we went through because we're not GOOD enough for each other?"  
  
"Buffy, I loved you. I still love you. That has never changed." He was quiet in his regard. "You know that or I wouldn't be here."  
  
"How do I know that?"  
  
"I don't know. I just know that the only thing that comes to this place is what you bring with you and you've been dragging me around for a very long time."  
  
His words, quiet and forceful slowed her instant denial and she glared at him reproachfully, and then looked away.  
  
"It's why you couldn't love Riley, no matter how much you wanted to."  
  
"I did love Riley," she refuted weakly.  
  
"Did you? Or did you just love what he represented?"  
  
She glared at him again, and then turned her back. "I don't want to talk to you anymore."  
  
"It doesn't work like that. The spell they cast to send you here was to help you recognize what was wrong inside and to fix it." He walked around until his shadow fell over her and she was forced to look up at his eyes. Why did she have to love him so damn much? And why did it have to hurt? "I'm -- holding onto me is part of what is wrong."  
  
"I love you." Buffy swallowed, the admission costing.  
  
"I know. But what we had, we can't ever have that again. You said it yourself; we're both different now. You were moving on with your life, but until you let go of the past, you can't ever go on."  
  
She sniffled and then glared down at the ground. She didn't want to cry. She was so tired of crying over him. "I don't know how."  
  
"Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself for loving a flawed vampire. Forgive yourself for being a flawed individual. Forgive yourself because you love so hard that you can't let go." He stood there, so close yet so far away and that's how it was going to be, always.  
  
She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it nearly impossible to get around. "I always -- I always thought that some day would come when we'd done enough and then -- and -- "  
  
"And then we'd get out of the lives we were given to have the life we could dream of?" He supplied for her.  
  
"Yeah." Buffy sighed, it sounded so very lame, even to her. "I knew it wasn't realistic, but what else did I have to look forward to?" She turned the tear-filled eyes upwards. "Dying?"  
  
"Why not try living, luv?" Another voice offered from behind her. She turned and found Spike regarding her from a few feet away. "I mean if all the poof has to offer is unrequited love that makes you wish you were dead as a preference, there might be a problem with that."  
  
Angel sighed and Buffy glanced from Angel then back to Spike. She pushed her hand across her eyes, swiping away the tears. "I'm alive."  
  
"Are you?" They both asked in unison.  
  
"Yeah, I'm alive. Not like I had anymore choice in that than I did in being the Slayer or in Angel leaving."  
  
"And you resent that, don't you?" Spike was suddenly in her face, his eyes burning fierce yellow. "You resent the hell out of the people who make these choices for you and don't give you any say, don't you?"  
  
"YES!" Buffy shouted and suddenly found herself alone again; she turned around and saw nothing but empty desert. "Spike?"  
  
"Angel?"  
  
There was no one, there was nothing. Nothing but miles and miles of sand.  
  
She swallowed around the lump in her throat again and sat down on the sand. It should burn her legs, the sun felt like it should be fierce, but she felt none of it. She pushed a hand through her hair and felt herself starting to rock back and forth, tears sliding one after another down her cheeks.  
  
"Life isn't about choice." A soft voice said from beside her as it sat down and took up a position next to her. "If anyone knows that, it's us."  
  
Buffy sniffled hard and then turned her head. "Then why do we do it?"  
  
Buffy smiled at herself and ran a hand gently over her head. "That's part of what we need to talk about."  
  
3.1.1.3 Shadows  
  
Buffy sniffled where she sat within the circle, her eyes somewhere else and the tears falling down her face stabbing him in the chest with each drop. He was calmer now than a few moments before when Giles seized his arm and yanked him backwards. Buffy had screamed his name.  
  
His name.  
  
She wanted him back, he could hear it in her tone and he wanted ever so much to go to her. He leaned back against the wall and tried to find something else to look at that wasn't her tears. He must be buggered to be standing in this basement, casting spells like some wizard and loving the Slayer so bad that it was tearing him up inside.  
  
Why is that? His internal counterpart queried. Why do you despise yourself for loving her?  
  
She's the bloody Slayer ya daft git, he snarled inside. She's my mortal enemy. It was bad enough that I developed this thing for her in the first place, probably wouldn't have happened without the chip.  
  
You're not chipped now, it pointed out helpfully.  
  
It's too late now.  
  
Then why all the worry and the fuss? What's done is done, right?  
  
That was perspective, he supposed. Still, it's unnatural and look where it landed us.  
  
Loving her didn't get you here. Wanting to protect her and have her got you here. It made another point and Spike resisted the scowl that overtook his features. Maybe it was the influence of the chip or the influence of Buffy's little circle of friends or just maybe it was the influence of sharing his counterpart's intellect, but he really needed to sit down and think this through.  
  
You're an impetuous creature, the voice continued in an intellectual sense. Every passion that has consumed you has been borne of an impetuous action. Your rush away from Cecily, who from the looks of it was a rather vainglorious creature and you shouldn't have allowed her to upset you so, to your run in with Drusilla. Did you even understand what she was offering you when she turned you?  
  
No, he admitted after a long while. Didn't much care for it at first either. Didn't care to be looked down on by Angelus or Darla. Didn't care for being in that box for two days till I figured out how to get out. I loved Dru though, God how I loved her. She was everything dark and passionate I'd always imagined, brutal and strong, beautiful and deadly.  
  
Fascinating was all the commentary his counterpart could offer.  
  
She was! She is! You saw her tonight; she's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.  
  
And probably one of the more shallow, his counterpart reasoned. She chose you because Angelus didn't have time for her and you have to admit, she's not exactly spinning on all coasters.  
  
It's part of her charm, Spike grumped.  
  
Still, it was an impetuous action. Quite like the first Slayer you went after, you did it because you had something to prove, because Angelus wanted to run and you decided that you'd earn their respect if you took a Slayer.  
  
Didn't work, Spike sighed.  
  
His eyes flickered over towards the circle; the long streaks of tears were still trolling down Buffy's face. He hated to see her so sad, he'd give anything to see her smile again and for another tear to never fall down her face.  
  
You know, his internal critic interrupted. It's very easy to die for someone else. It's noble on the one hand, but it's still very easy.  
  
How so?  
  
What were those words your Slayer said to Dawn before she jumped into the portal? "The hardest thing to do in this world is to live in it." You knew this; you've been trying to make her see it for months, though I do question some of your methods.  
  
If you could do it better, I dare you to go back and try. He was getting awfully tired of how superior and smug that voice tended to be.  
  
I'm serious. The hardest thing is to live in this world. To live with the choices we make and harder still the consequences of those choices. You told her that hiding this relationship was part of what was killing her and you're right. The more you try to avoid, the more lies you tell yourself, the more wrapped up in your pain you become, the more lost you are. But you could use a measure of your own advice.  
  
Excuse me?  
  
You wear your love for the Slayer like a shroud of penance and torture. You bemoan your fate because you love her and cannot walk away. You can walk away, you just don't want too. There is a difference.  
  
Spike frowned and started to open his mouth, then closed it again.  
  
Gonna deny it? The voice taunted him.  
  
I can't exactly leave her.  
  
Then why did you stay when she was dead?  
  
I made her a promise.  
  
She was dead; she wouldn't have known the difference. You didn't know what her friends were planning so you can't use that as an excuse. You're a demon, man. The big bad, isn't that what you keep telling her? You walk in darkness; you don't belong to their world. So, I'll ask you again, if you're so damn big and bad and evil, why did you stay?  
  
He blinked slowly and realized he didn't know.  
  
Gave you something to think about, didn't I? It told him smugly.  
  
3.1.1.4 Black Night  
  
"It's like a chess game."  
  
"What?" Buffy blinked, her tears were drying up slowly. She despised feeling helpless and while the spate of crying seemed to relieve the jagged pressure building up, it wasn't accomplishing anything.  
  
"What we do, it's like chess."  
  
Buffy eyed herself suspiciously. "Please don't tell me I was a champion chess player here."  
  
"No," she burst out laughing. "I've just been learning how to play in the last year or so. Giles adores the game. He started teaching me a while back, when I convinced him I needed him to stay here."  
  
"Oh. I didn't know he liked chess."  
  
The other Buffy shrugged. "I didn't know either. Till he started teaching me. I kinda like it, but don't tell him that. I think he gets a big kick out of "making" me think things through."  
  
She smiled a little at that. "He does like to teach. And to push. And to train."  
  
They both sighed.  
  
A companionable silence fell between them as they thought about their Watcher. "I've been wondering --" Buffy began.  
  
"--why it's always the desert?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Because this is the world as we see it."  
  
A skeptical look crossed her face. "Come again?"  
  
"We're alone, even though we have a family and friends and people who care about us, ultimately we're alone. We're alone in this vast desert of fate. Nothing that anyone else does changes that."  
  
"That's really depressing."  
  
"I suppose. But it's what we made for ourselves. I was just starting to get a handle on all of that, before the little nerd herd got out of hand."  
  
"I died."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I didn't want to come back."  
  
"But you did."  
  
"I didn't have a choice."  
  
"You can choose to leave."  
  
"I can't, they need me."  
  
"They're always going to need you. As long as you are there to catch them, they have to need you."  
  
"What?"  
  
Buffy's head swum for a moment, having a conversation in the desert with herself was not at all what she imagined it would be. What she said made sense, but not really. "I don't understand how they have to need me."  
  
"You haven't lost them, yet. You're starting to now and I think you're starting to see what it's like. Um -- " The other took a breath. "It still hurts that Xander died. Not just because of all the things I did or didn't do, or even the things I didn't say. It hurts because we were friends for so long and...Giles was helping me to understand that most of who I am is because of who they are."  
  
"I guess I inherited the dense gene. That doesn't make any sense. I was the Slayer before I met Xander and Willow."  
  
"So was I. But I was also a different person before I became the Slayer. I still remember spending every Saturday at a different mall, scoping out the clothes and the boys and the shoes. I had my little circle of friends and you needed a certain level of coolness to be a part of it. We rocked."  
  
They shared a grin at the remembered experience.  
  
"Then Merrick came. It changed everything. Mom and Dad didn't believe me. My friends thought I was some kind of freak and it didn't help that Dad was getting lucky with his secretary. Had time for her, no time for me."  
  
Buffy sighed. "Then Merrick died."  
  
"And with him the only person who believed me -- us."  
  
"I didn't ever want to be close to anyone like that again."  
  
"What I am, what we are, it's what killed him."  
  
"Well sorta, he was a Watcher. He knew more about the vampires than I did."  
  
"Didn't save him."  
  
"I save him every time I save someone else."  
  
"Doesn't bring him back."  
  
"Never will."  
  
"Nope."  
  
They fell quiet again. Buffy swallowed hard and looked across the desert. "Death is your gift. I thought she meant that dying for Dawn, that would be my gift."  
  
"But all we seem to do is bring death to the ones around us."  
  
"Yeah. Now Willow's going all dark and freaky, she scares me -- I don't know if I can fight her. I don't know that I even want to."  
  
"It's not a matter of wanting, it's a matter of having to. It's the matter of being the only ones who can."  
  
"But why?"  
  
"Because we made her."  
  
Buffy blinked and looked back at herself. "How can you say that?"  
  
"Do you think Willow would have ever even looked twice at magic before knowing us?"  
  
"Well -- "  
  
"Do you think that she would have become more and more involved with it if she didn't want to help us?"  
  
"I -- "  
  
"And do you think that she would have become so powerful if she didn't want to the person we turned to and were grateful for and became this powerful force to be reckoned with?"  
  
Buffy felt sick to her stomach.  
  
"I didn't ask her to do any of those things."  
  
"No, not at first. But after a while, you expected it because that is what she was becoming. They idolize us because we're stronger, we're faster and we're mystical champions. They wanted to be like us, because who doesn't want to be a hero?"  
  
"I *never* wanted to be a hero."  
  
"Oh right."  
  
"I didn't!"  
  
"You played She-Ra when you were seven!"  
  
"I was SEVEN!" Buffy stared at herself askance. Then slowly they both started laughing.  
  
"Face it, we're irretrievably screwed up."  
  
"I'll second that emotion."  
  
"But we're still Slayers."  
  
"Do you think -- do you think that the power can choose someone who's wrong for it?"  
  
"Like Faith?"  
  
"Like us."  
  
"We're not wrong, we're just overwhelmed. I can fight a Shirago Demon, no problem, but I can't handle it when a guy asks me out on a date. Send me out to patrol for rising vamps, no sweat. Try to figure out the right thing to say to my best friend when her lover dies? Beats me. We're human, but our world -- it's darker and it's full of hate and violence. It's really hard to live in both places. I think it might be easier to just stop trying."  
  
"Now you sound like Spike."  
  
"No, now I sound like the Council. The Council disapproved of my friends and their involvement. So did Giles, remember?"  
  
"But without them, we would have died when the Master--"  
  
Her counterpart smiled bitterly. "Yes, we would have died, the way we were destined to and all this pain and all this hell would be over. But we didn't die because we chose to defy the Council and to make our friends and our friends keep helping us now whether we want them to our not."  
  
"Every decision -- " Buffy's eyes turned towards the past and the distance. "Every decision we've made. It's a part of why we are here now."  
  
"Kinda makes you think we chose to be where we are, doesn't it?"  
  
Buffy's head whipped around but the other was gone, leaving her to the desert landscape and the slowly rising breeze that started blowing from the East.  
  
3.1.1.5 Dusk  
  
It felt like hours had passed and still she remained in the desert. There was no one left to talk to. Yet, she remained there, lost in this moment in time. The night came and was slowly receding. In the distance she could see the sky shifting colors, changing.  
  
"Hey B."  
  
Buffy stiffened at the voice and whirled. On the opposite side of the fire pit, which now blazed with heat and warmth, stood Faith. She stared at her for a long time, searching for the animosity her presence should arouse. All she felt was tired.  
  
"Faith."  
  
"Getting tired of it, ain't ya?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"The self-righteousness. The cross to carry. All that jazz that you get so hyped up on." Faith rubbed her hands together and warmed them at the fire.  
  
"Maybe. Not that you'd know anything about that."  
  
Faith shrugged and quirked a grin. "Yeah, but I'm not the one freezing. I may be screwed up, but I know I'm screwed up and I'm trying to get better. What's your excuse?"  
  
"Leave me alone." Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head.  
  
"Sure thing B, wallow in it. Never thought you were all that great to begin with." And then she too was gone.  
  
"Miss Summers."  
  
"Now what?" Buffy demanded as she opened her eyes and found Quentin Travers standing there. "You want a pound of me too?"  
  
"Not quite." He smiled slightly. "You have some questions for me; ask."  
  
"Why?" Buffy demanded. "Why do you Watch? Why do I have to slay? Why?"  
  
"Because you are a weapon, a weapon created to serve the greater good. You slay because you were designed for it. You hunt because you have the desire for it. You are the Slayer."  
  
"But why me?"  
  
"Why anybody?"  
  
"Why was I chosen? Who picks my name out of some mystical hat?"  
  
He started chuckle softly, a maddeningly pompous laugh. "Miss Summers, you were chosen because you were. It is as simple as that."  
  
"Were you always this annoying? No wait. I can answer that. Yes." Her expression darkened. The flames in the fire popped and sparked higher, roaring like a bonfire now. They were gathering, one by one, she could feel them. Gathering around the fire pit. She deliberately kept her back to it; she didn't want to see their faces.  
  
"Look at them, pet." Spike circled around her until he was crouching into her line of vision. "Look at them. Let them answer your questions."  
  
"I'm scared of the answers."  
  
"Because you already know them."  
  
"I've been such a fool."  
  
He smiled a little at that. "Look at them."  
  
Slowly, taking in a deep breath, she turned and looked at the faces and there were hundreds, but a few stood out. A few gleamed more brightly than the others.  
  
"I'm alive because of you. More than once." Willow smiled. "I learned a whole new way of looking at the world and it's exciting and it's scary. But I love it."  
  
Xander shrugged his shoulders and offered her a grin. "What can I say? It's a hell of a ride Buff, you're my hero. You always have been."  
  
"You taught me to love and to care for other people." Angel regarded her from the far side. "I was just living like some pathetic animal before I knew you. You gave me courage and you gave me hope."  
  
"I thought my responsibility was just to teach you to behave properly, but you taught me that there is more to being a hero than following the rules or living by the standards that other people set for you." Giles smiled encouragingly.  
  
"You are the strongest, bravest girl I have ever known. You did it alone for so long and I look back and I wish that I had known so I could have held you and protected you longer. But you taught me that you have the strength of spirit and the fortitude of mind. You didn't give up, even when you wanted to, you kept coming back." Joyce bit her lip. "No matter how badly we reacted or didn't understand. You kept trying."  
  
"You tried to save me B and when that didn't work you kicked my ass." Faith shrugged. "But you didn't want to be driven that far and I know why now."  
  
"You gave me life." Dawn sniffed. "You love me because we're the same person, inside, my blood, your blood. I never understood what living was until they made me and they made me out of you. Without you, I wouldn't exist."  
  
"You taught me to care about others," Anya offered with a faint smile. "Even if it isn't profitable. You don't charge for what you do, you don't even worry about being told thank you."  
  
"You never stop." Jonathon was there, looking small and shuffling his feet. "Even when the people you save turn out to be jerks. You keep saving us."  
  
"You're a hero, Buffy." Kendra smiled at her. "You don't do things the way they supposed to be done. You do things the way Buffy does them. You live in a time of change and you are the avatar of that change."  
  
Slowly, she turned and more faces stepped forward, more spoke to her. Faces of the people she had saved, faces of the ones that she failed until finally her eyes rested on Spike.  
  
"You don't forget anything, Slayer. You live with every action and every act. You save lives, you doom lives. You are you. You are the fire. And we live in awe of it and warm ourselves on it." His eyes shone with the sincerity she'd only glimpsed on a handful of occasions. Looking down she found that she was standing in the fire and the fire was flowing over her hands and her arms.  
  
Her eyes gleamed.  
  
"The fire is back."  
  
3.1.1.6 Dawn  
  
She wrenched herself back to awareness with a sudden deep breath and a rapid blink. She felt rested and exhausted at once and looked around the basement to see Giles leaning against the steps, a cup of tea in hand and Spike sleeping in the corner.  
  
"Welcome back. " Giles smiled at her over the rim of his cup.  
  
"Wow." Buffy murmured weakly. "I'm --"  
  
"Take it easy." Giles motioned her to sit down. "Better to take things slowly, let your body get used to having you back in it."  
  
Her eyes traveled over to where Spike was sleeping, then nodded slowly. She smiled at the image he made, propped half on against a banister, head ducked to the side, sleeping. His hair was tousled and boyish the way it fell against his face.  
  
Giles motioned to the top of the stairs with an inclination of his head and Buffy nodded. She started to stand and then took her time about it as feeling and blood rushed back into limbs that were too long bent awkwardly. She stamped her foot against the floor once or twice to rouse it from its slumber. Grimacing, she moved with a faint limp to where Spike was sleeping. Touching his shoulder lightly, she smiled as he awoke almost instantly.  
  
"Want to go have some coffee?" She asked him with a small smile.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Her smile spread a touch wider. "Never been better."  
  
"Oh, that's good. Right." Spike started to stand then paused to look at her again. "You're different."  
  
Buffy grinned.  
  
"I'm serious."  
  
"I know. Come on, I'll fill you two in after we get some coffee and some food. I'm starving." Buffy winked once and then turned to head up the stairs, leaving Spike to trail after her with a befuddled expression. The three settled into the kitchen and Buffy noticed that dawn was appearing on the horizon. The simplicity of it caused her to smile even more.  
  
They were both watching her with somewhat wary expressions, wariness mixed with curiosity. She plopped herself down at the table and felt almost giddy. Giles moved around the kitchen, easily preparing some cups of tea and coffee. He offered some muffins and biscuits that Joyce apparently made before going to bed.  
  
She waited until they were both sitting at the table before recounting the experience to both of them; she glossed over some parts, but told them essentially everything. She was on her fourth muffin by the time she was done. "So," she said around the mouthful. "I guess I just had a symphony, and it all clicked."  
  
"A symphony?" Spike queried.  
  
"Yeah." Buffy wiped a hand across her mouth and washed down some of the muffin with a swig of coffee. "You know, where everything falls into place and you suddenly realize something you should have seen all along."  
  
"Epiphany." Giles murmured as he hid his smile behind the teacup.  
  
"Oh, right." Spike nodded, and then shook his head. "So, you're all better now. Tip top and everything is as it should be?"  
  
"Well, I'm better and no everything isn't as it should be. We need to take care of Angelus and Drusilla not to mention Willow." Buffy bounced up from the table and poured herself another cup of coffee. "So, first things first. You two make with the books and get cracking on a way to curse Angel again. He needs to have his soul." She turned around and leaned back against the counter. "That will just leave us with Willow and Drusilla, which is a scary enough thought."  
  
"What if we can't curse Angel, Buffy? Jenny doesn't reside in Sunnydale anymore. She more or less left after making us aware of the curse and the ramifications." Giles asked quietly.  
  
"Can't you use the computer and drop her an email? You know, ask her what to do?"  
  
"I despise that contraption."  
  
"Well, I'd suggest sending her a letter with a stamp through the Post Awful, but time is a little bit of the essence at the moment." Buffy offered him a wry smile.  
  
"Yes, quite. All right, I'll see what I can do about that."  
  
"What about Dru?" Spike asked.  
  
Buffy's eyes swiveled to him and she chewed her lip. "We're going to have to dust her, Spike. I can't really see reasoning with her. Especially if she's all gooey eyed for your new bod and wanting to make you all over again."  
  
He sighed and merely nodded, his eyes hiding whatever thoughts he might be having on the matter. "And Willow?"  
  
"I haven't figured that part out yet." Buffy let out an explosive breath. "But this has to stop. She's outta control and I know she's upset about Tara, but this whole power trip thingy. It's just gonna get people killed."  
  
"Buffy," Giles interrupted quietly. "You know you may be forced to --"  
  
"-- kill her?" Buffy responded with equal quietness. "I know. I don't want to. It doesn't mean I won't. I wish we were not in this position. I wish that I'd made better decisions when I had the chance. I feel like that at some point there was an opportunity to stop a lot of what's happened from happening and I missed the bus." She paused for a moment. "But I can't let her hurt innocent people just because I feel bad or I feel guilty. It's not my guilt that people need me for. I think I finally got that part."  
  
"Very well. I'll get to work on contacting Ms. Calendar. If you two will excuse me." Giles looked somewhat mollified as he left the two of them alone.  
  
Buffy's eyes traveled back to where Spike was sitting quietly. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Not sure." He replied. "Think this -- " he motioned around them. "--it's all getting to me. But I'm glad you seem better. It's good to see that."  
  
"When this is over --"  
  
"We'll get back, Slayer. We'll need to."  
  
She froze for a moment and then nodded, she'd expected him to argue with her about it, not to just agree readily before she even asked. "I don't know if being human again really means anything to you. Or..if me asking you to take back this opportunity is wrong. " She hesitated and then set the coffee cup down to walk over to him. "I just know that I can't run from who I am or what I am anymore. I made some pretty bad decisions and I made some not so bad decisions. But I can't just run away from what they are or what they mean."  
  
"Which was I?" Spike asked her.  
  
"You weren't a bad decision," she smiled weakly. "Most of the time. I'm still working that part out and I know that as long as all these threats are hanging over us, I may not really ever get a chance to figure it all out."  
  
She pulled a chair over so she could sit down and look at him. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands together. "I'm the Slayer, Spike. It means I stand between the world and the bad guys. It means I have to make the hard decisions. It means that I can't come first, the people who need me have to."  
  
He nodded slowly, a flicker of pain crossing over his face.  
  
"People like my mom, the neighbors, the kids in the school and people like you. I can't put you ahead of everybody, I can't put what we may or may not have ahead of everybody. But I'm not going to run from it and I'm not going to deny it anymore."  
  
He blinked, his gaze lifting and riveting to her face.  
  
"I told you before that I wanted to -- I wanted to try. It'll never be easy."  
  
"I don't need easy."  
  
"It might not ever be pleasant."  
  
"Don't need bloody pleasant."  
  
"But if you'll have me, I'll try."  
  
"Do you have to even ask that?"  
  
"No. But I wanted to give you the chance to say no. You want it all, Spike. I don't know that I can ever give you all of me. Because I don't have all of me. The world has a piece of me and it needs it more than I do or you do."  
  
"If all I can do is share you with the rest, Slayer. I'll do that. I just don't want to be shut out."  
  
She smiled tremulously. "It's not whiskers on kittens or a white picket fence...but I don't need that. I think what I need is you."  
  
"That's all you ever had to say."  
  
"I'm saying it now."  
  
"I'm bloody well marking it on the calendar then."  
  
She couldn't help it then, she laughed.  
  
And it felt so good.  
  
  
  
4 RED SKY  
  
4.1.1.1 Glimmer  
  
Spike waited until the sun was fully up before electing to return to his hotel. Buffy was coming with him, acting as both a guardian and a companion. There was something amusing about her wanting to protect him, not that he was complaining. His counterpart, thankfully, remained completely silent on the issue. He was still trying to work through the provocative array of thoughts his questioning during the night had aroused.  
  
Why did he stay to help the self-proclaimed Scooby gang over the summer? He could reason it was his promise to Buffy. In many ways, that was exactly where the reasoning was borne. Yet, no matter how much he participated, took hits, dusted vamps or saved their lives, he was never admitted to the inner circle. At best he was tolerated and at worst, denigrated. Willow and Tara were often polite enough; Giles and Xander were another story all together.  
  
Dawn was the only one who seemed to openly accept him. She embraced his position in her life and he knew that because she treated him, for all intents and purposes, exactly how she treated all the other adults in her life. She was smarmy about the rules, indignant at the idea of being babysat but also welcoming of the attention despite her vociferous protestations.  
  
He contemplated that as he and Buffy arrived at the lobby of the hotel. It was quiet, much like when he arrived the night before. There was a new clerk sitting behind the desk and it occurred to Spike he should probably check his messages. Actually, the thought occurred to William who roused long enough to nudge Spike in that direction. Buffy waited patiently, a sense of hyper awareness to her while he did so. As it turned out, there were several messages in the box waiting for William's attention.  
  
Flipping through them, they made their way to the elevator and Buffy hit the up arrow. The light flickered on behind it. Spike paused on the message that indicated Travers wanted him to check in immediately. There was another from a man named Zechariah who claimed to have completed the research William had requested. A third came from a woman named Bethany who was worried since he'd not rung her up since his arrival. Three more from Travers and Spike shook his head. Persistent git.  
  
You could say that, his counterpart sighed internally as they stepped onto the elevator. That's why I wanted to check the messages. I was worried about the reaction to me not checking in.  
  
"Fourth floor." He advised Buffy, who nodded and flashed him a small smile as she hit the appropriate number. He paused to admire that smile. There was an air of confidence about her again, strength and vitality. He'd not realized how sorely lacking all of the above were since her return from wherever she'd been after her death. Though, the little lost girl was deeply appealing and aroused every protective instinct he possessed. He preferred this Buffy though, strong and capable.  
  
"So did you win the Publisher's Clearing House?"  
  
"Hmm?" Spike blinked from his musings to look at Buffy quizzically. The elevator dinged their stop and the doors slid open. His gaze followed her as she stepped out, looked both ways up and down the hall before motioning him to join her.  
  
"The messages." She pointed to the plethora of pink slips in his hand. "Did you win a prize?"  
  
"Oh, no. Just a bunch of blokes wanting me to check in." Spike crushed the messages into a ball and nodded towards 412. "I'm down this way." He took the lead once more, Buffy trailing him by only half-a-step. He fished the room key out of his pocket and let himself back in. A breeze blew through the broken window and sunshine spilled across the floor like a pool of golden warmth.  
  
Buffy closed the door behind them and then surveyed the damage. "Must have been some party." The crushed lamp still decorated the corner and his trunk was precisely where he left it. He felt is counterpart's measured relief at the sight of it. Though he was surprised that he was worried about it all. The protection spells would prevent its removal and unless Willow spent half the night trying to crack it, there was no reason to believe it would have traveled anywhere.  
  
He pushed the crumpled messages into the pocket of his jacket and sidestepped around the bed to where the trunk sat. He muttered a few words in Latin and then opened the lid. His supplies were neatly arrayed and he concentrated on them for a few moments, letting his counterpart list off what was going to be needed.  
  
A glance over his shoulder showed him the Slayer was prowling around the room. Her eyes traveled every inch of it. He wasn't sure if she was just betraying her own restlessness or actually looking for something. Returning his attention to the work at hand, he pulled out several components and began combining them in different bags. He also removed a St. Christopher medal that hung inside, looped it over his neck and tucked it into his shirt.  
  
A part of him half-expected the medal to burn as it came into contact with his skin, but it settled into place with an almost warm glow. "Relax, Slayer. It's daylight. Drusilla won't be back at the moment." He reminded her over his shoulder.  
  
"Sunlight doesn't bother Willow."  
  
"No," he nodded agreeably. "But I imagine she gave herself quite the headache with the temper tantrum she was belting at the house last night."  
  
"I hope she didn't kill anyone." Buffy murmured as she gazed out the window, the breeze flowered the curtains out and pushed the hair away from her face.  
  
"You can't save people from themselves, Slayer." Spike consoled her as he rocked back on his heels and began to line up the jars he was putting together. His counterpart was only half paying attention to the conversation; he was more interested in a leather-bound book that rested beneath some of the components in the bottom of the chest. Spike retrieved it and flipped it open. The words scrawled on the pages were legible and recognizable, despite the fact that it was written in a rather archaic form of Gaelic.  
  
So I'm a language buff, sue me, came his counterpart's caustic defense. They flipped through the pages, scanning the information and looking for a specific entry.  
  
"I know I can't save people from themselves. Look at what happened with Faith." Buffy murmured.  
  
"Don't remember much about Faith. She wasn't around when I visited." Spike responded as he found the entry he was looking for. He knew whom the Slayer was talking about, but she didn't mean much to him. He'd have probably taken her quite easily. Faith possessed the problem most Slayers did. She wanted to die.  
  
He'd have been happy to accommodate her once. Especially after all that she'd put Buffy through. His counterpart pushed aside those thoughts and slapped him back into concentrating on the task at hand. His eyes skimmed over the material again, absorbing it this time.  
  
"Huh." He grunted.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, seems that this isn't the first time a Slayer's gone up against a powerful Witch. Something similar occurred in Germany a couple of hundred years ago." Spike glanced over at Buffy and found that her gaze rested on him now.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Doesn't say. It does indicate that the witch was sacrificing young girls to raise demons, the Slayer got herself inside as one of the sacrifices."  
  
"She didn't make it?"  
  
"Her Watcher was never certain. The Witch and the Slayer vanished."  
  
"Just like that?"  
  
Spike held up the book. "That's what the notes say. The other references to witchcraft involve mostly cases from the Inquisition, where the Slayer helped to round up some of the more troublesome lots."  
  
Buffy blinked. "Wait a minute, Willow told me that most of the people they killed during the Inquisition probably weren't even witches just midwives and people with an axe to grind. Are you saying a real Slayer actually helped with that?"  
  
He stood up and flipped to the relevant pages. "That's what William here has noted. There were several instances scattered through the journals of four active Watchers. Their Slayers participated in bringing witches to justice and trial if the Slayer could prove for certain that the Dark Powers were truly being consorted. The last entry was around 1641. The Slayer in question burned down a house occupied by one Amale Constanza, her sister Francesca and four unidentified others. The Slayer told her Watcher that they'd summoned a demon, the house caught blaze during the battle with the demon and the Witches were all destroyed."  
  
Glancing up from the book, he grinned a little. "This is kinda neat, you know, reading about what went on a few hundred years ago."  
  
"Neat." Buffy echoed quietly.  
  
"What?" Spike frowned at the distance that appeared in her voice.  
  
"Slayers and Witches. Slayers have killed Witches before."  
  
"Yeah." Spike nodded slowly.  
  
"Spike, witches are humans. Slayers are never supposed to kill a human, that's what the Watcher's Council told. We don't harm humans, just demons." Buffy gnawed at her lip, the concept quite obviously disturbing her a great deal.  
  
Spike started to shrug, and then thought about it. "I can't see as how these Slayers were given much choice. You fight evil where it's at, right?"  
  
"I suppose. But how do I decide if a human is evil or not."  
  
"By the actions that it takes." William supplied the answer before Spike could react and continued. "Slayer, humans are neither intrinsically good nor bad. We possess the capabilities for both. To make a sweeping judgment that a Slayer should never kill a human because they might be killing an innocent is erroneous. The measure is simply enforced to make a Slayer think before they pass judgment. And killing is extremely provocative. To classify demons as completely soulless and worthy of being killed is also an oversimplification. It gives the Slayer a way out of the guilt that would otherwise normally plague their everyday decisions. Slayers can't hesitate, they must have the strength of mind and the fortitude of spirit to confront darkness on all its terms."  
  
"Even humans?"  
  
"Even - - especially humans." Spike felt himself sliding further backwards as William took full control of the situation. "You're older now and you've certainly outlived any number of your predecessors, but it might be worthy for you to spend some time researching those predecessors. Slayers have fought in major human wars. They participated in the underground railroad during the United States Civil War as well as against the Nazi's in Poland, Russia and Germany itself. Slayers were created to fight vampires as well as other denizens of the dark. You cannot just assume that humans cannot be used for the darkness or that they will not reach for darkness to serve them."  
  
"Not all demons are evil." Buffy said slowly. "I mean look at Clem, he's like a big puppy. And Warren..."  
  
"Precisely my point," William managed to complete before Spike asserted himself. "And something I've been trying to tell you for months, Slayer. You can't just judge people on whether they're human or not."  
  
"I don't want to have to debate moral dilemmas every time I confront something. It's easier to have it be just black and white. Humans good, demons bad."  
  
"Easier." Spike agreed. "But not realistic."  
  
Buffy sighed, and then offered him a faint smile. "Sometimes I think it was easier when I was in high school. And the whole time I was in high school, I kept thinking it would be easier when I got out."  
  
"I believe they call that growing up." Spike winked.  
  
  
  
When in doubt...  
  
She was pacing again, roaming back and forth around the kitchen with a restless air about her. He glanced up from the journal he was writing in, having resumed William's habit of recording events and notations and finding the practice quite soothing. Except for her dreadful pacing that took her from the refrigerator to the back door then back again.  
  
"Slayer?" He asked quietly, resting the pen briefly and watching her cease moving to wheel around and stare at him.  
  
"Why do you call me that?"  
  
He lifted his brows. "Slayer?"  
  
She nodded once, her arms folding in front of her, as though she were hugging herself or taking a stance. He wasn't quite certain because her posture didn't seem to indicate trying to intimidate him for a change, for which he was profoundly grateful.  
  
"It's what you are." He shrugged, having never really given the matter much thought.  
  
"It's not my name though, but you always call me that."  
  
"Well, sometimes I call you pet or luv, but you don't seem to care for that very much." He countered with a faint quirk to his grin. "I was rather fond of Goldilocks, but you didn't like that either."  
  
She groaned and rubbed her hands over her face for a moment, then affixed him with a scowl. "Can we be serious for a change?"  
  
"Are we ever not serious?" He retorted leaning back in the chair and letting the front legs lift off the ground. He was watching the emotions dance across her face like some madcap ball from the 20s, all rushing motion and no real grace. "What's eating at you pet?"  
  
"Besides the obvious?" Buffy growled and stalked across the room, literally throwing herself into a chair on the opposite side of the table. Her fingers drummed the tabletop, an extension of her restlessness. She followed his gaze to her tapping fingers and stilled them. She was chewing the inside of her lip and he could almost imagine that her foot was starting to tap beneath the table, however, he refrained from looking down to find out.  
  
"Does it really bother you that I call you Slayer?" He asked, softening his tone. She would be furious if she had any concept of how utterly adorable her behavior was at the moment. He sympathized with her need to be in action and that patiently waiting for something to break before moving was driving her nuts. But he'd long since learned that patience was the best weapon in battle.  
  
After all, most of the battles he'd lost against her were because he'd been driven by impatience.  
  
"It's not my name." She stated again. "My name is Buffy, but you never call me that."  
  
"I've always thought of you as the Slayer." It was the truth. "From the moment I first watched you dance in the Bronze to the night I saw you jump through that portal. You've always been the Slayer to me." So much emotion welled up inside him at the statement that he realized just how unutterably true it was. As true as the night he woke to the horrifying realization that he loved this Slayer, loved her deeply and absolutely.  
  
She wasn't just any Slayer.  
  
She was his Slayer.  
  
"Do you want to call me Buffy?" She asked, her head tilting and looking at him with intense curiosity.  
  
"If it makes you happy, pet."  
  
"That's not what I asked. I -- I want to know if it would make you happy?" She hesitated over the question; her teeth were worrying at her lower lip again, pensive and adorable in one. "I don't know -- I don't know what makes you happy. You're always doing things for me, taking care of things, showing up when I need you or even when I didn't particularly want you there. I guess -- I don't know what to do to - - "  
  
"To make me happy?" He set the chair down with a little thump and leaned forward. "Slayer, you make me happy when you smile. You make me happy when you talk to me and treat me like a man. You make me happy when you trust me and don't slam the door in my face." His voice caught a bit. "You make me happy by being alive."  
  
They stared at each other; the naked emotion left him feeling raw, vulnerable and exposed. How often had he bared his heart to her only to have her drive the stake in further? How often was it met by rejection, scorn and contempt? Still, it was the absolute, unfettered truth. No matter how furious he became with her, how often he'd thought of choking the life out of her himself, she was everything to him. Even if he couldn't be a part of her life, knowing she was alive was enough.  
  
If only she'd been alive and happy, maybe he could have broken away then. But she hadn't been, she'd returned lost, confused and so very alone. He'd tried to look after her and when she came to him again and again, he couldn't help himself. He couldn't abandon her when she so obviously needed someone, even if it was someone like him.  
  
A tear was sliding down her face and he felt like kicking himself. He started to stand when her hand came across the table and captured his. He looked from her tear-filled eyes to where their hands clasped then returned to her expression.  
  
"I'm sorry, pet. I didn't mean to make you cry." His voice choked on the emotion again. Slowly she turned his hand over and threaded her fingers with his. "Come on, don't cry." He wanted to plead with her; the tears sliding down her face were creating an unbearable ache of agony in his stomach.  
  
"I can't help it. I feel so stupid about some of the things that I've thought and I've done. The last two days, all I've done is pace around waiting for something to happen that would get the action going again and nothing. It's been silent, absolutely and utterly silent. I can't locate them, I don't know where they are or how Giles is doing on his spell or what you're thinking half the time or how to get past all these mistakes I've made. And I find myself sitting here wishing for something that seems so utterly trivial..." A small watery laugh broke into her tears.  
  
"What?" He leaned over the table, squeezing her fingers. "What do you wish?"  
  
"I wish - - I wish that just once -- we'd danced at the Bronze -- like a real couple -- not two lost people hiding in the dark." She gave another watery laugh and reached up with her free hand to dash away the tears.  
  
"All right," Spike stood and tugged her to her feet, pulling her with him towards the basement door. He left the notebook and pen right where they were and guided her down the stairs. She came willingly, still wiping her eyes. Never releasing her hand, he looked around the basement until his eyes alighted on his quarry. Tugging her along, he switched the box on and hit play on the CD.  
  
Turning back to her as the music gently began to play, he held their joined hands out a bit and offered a measured half-bow. "May I have the pleasure of this dance?"  
  
She gazed at him for a moment then smiled slowly. "I -- I would be honored."  
  
The words were old-fashioned, out of date and completely appropriate for both of them. Gathering her into his arms, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction as she moved into them without a hint of resistance or self- loathing. Step by step, they began to move in slow rhythm to the music, she leaned her head forward against his chest and he settled his chin atop hers.  
  
It didn't seem like much, this trivial little wish she felt so guilty for thinking about. But it meant the world to him. Let everything else wait for a while, he thought selfishly, let it all wait.  
  
We need this dance.  
  
  
  
4.1.1.2 Party Crasher  
  
  
  
She was curled into his arms, relaxing to the sway of the music and just the feeling of doing something that seemed right for a change. She was so tired of making mistakes and falling on her face at every turn and even if the moment lasted for just five minutes, it was a relief from having the weight of the world resting on her shoulders.  
  
His arms felt different here, he held her much the same, but there was a looseness to him that didn't exist the way they were before. She wondered if she felt different to him and was about to ask when there was a sound from above. A thump, followed by the door to the basement being flung open. They broke apart, spinning to look up as a pair of feet slowly descended the steps.  
  
"Oh please, don't let me interrupt."  
  
"Oh my god." Buffy stared in mute horror as Xander leaned on the railing and smiled at her. "I thought you were --"  
  
"Dead?" He grinned, and then laughed. "Yeah well, I got better!"  
  
"Slayer," Spike warned quietly, not that she needed a warning. There was something wrong with this whole picture. She didn't think twice about taking a step towards Xander.  
  
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Xander wagged a finger at her as he moved with unearthly grace down the stairs. "Really shouldn't be making yourself all comfortable down here, should you Buff? I mean aren't you supposed to be saving the world? Wasn't that where you were, too busy for the rest of us?"  
  
"Xander -- what happened to you? " Buffy held a hand up of her own, warning him to keep his distance, but effectively keeping herself between Xander and the all-too-human Spike.  
  
"Now that is a question." Xander flashed her a brilliant smile. "Let's see. I was born Alexander Lavelle Harris to two selfish, self-centered parents who's biggest goal in life was how drunk could one get and how long could the other one avoid a beating. But somehow I don't think you care about that." He did a faint little sidestep motion, then posed. "Oh, I know. I managed to make it through grade school and into middle school with only one or two beatings a year cause I got real good at hiding." He paused to put a finger to his chin, pondering her. "But I bet that's not the answer you wanted. How about, I met some FREAK when I was a sophomore that masqueraded as a really pretty girl. She was pretty stuck on herself and when she found out that I was a good little groupie she kept tossing me bones to keep around."  
  
"Xander -- "  
  
His sharp, acid burst of laughter cut her off. "Tossing me bones? Get it?" He doubled over slapping himself on the knee. "That's the real kicker of it all. She tossed me bones and I went for them like a good little dog. And then -- just when I finally think I get the girl, I get kicked in the teeth by someone else who thought I'd be a GREAT dog to deliver a message."  
  
By now he was standing there in front of her, head cocking to the side, hands folded behind his back. "So tell me, Buffy, did I do good that last time out? Did you get the message that was my CORPSE?"  
  
She flinched at the rancor in his tone and her eyes watered from the smell that seemed to wrap around her, emanating from his pores.  
  
"Ooo -- did I make you cry?" He bent his knees a little, allowing himself a good up close look at his face. "You know -- I didn't come here to make you cry."  
  
Buffy sucked in a breath, the smell stinging her eyes and nostrils grew more intense with each passing moment that he loomed in front of her. "Why are you here, Xander?"  
  
He leaned in closer, so close she thought her stomach would revolt and it was everything she could do to keep the bile in place. "Do you want to know?" He whispered, his breath like hot ash on her face. "Do you really want to know?"  
  
"Back off her mate," Spike warned from behind them, only his voice didn't sound like Spike. It sounded deeper, stronger and infinitely full of the threat of violence. The threat sounded like Spike and Buffy fought off the paranoia that clung to her like sticky mud and forced herself to back up a space.  
  
This was wrong.  
  
Xander's attention swiveled from her to Spike. He straightened and looked past her to gaze at the Englishman. "He's awful skinny to be your type, isn't he Buffy? No broody eyes? And what is he wearing? Giles' college wardrobe from when he went to Ox--ford?"  
  
  
  
"Xander, stop this." Buffy put a hand out towards him again, she didn't know what she expected to do, touch him lightly, coax him out of whatever temper was possessing him; maybe reason with him. But when her hand touched his arm, something shivered through her. His skin was like ice.  
  
Cold, cold flesh.  
  
Her eyes shot upwards and locked with his in time to see the malevolent grin spread across his face.  
  
"Surprise!" He whispered and she barely had time to bring her arm up to block the fist that drove against it. It was stronger than Xander could possibly possess and his other fist rolled into motion as well. Her arms came up and blocked and slammed her head forward into his chest, driving him back.  
  
"Get out of here!" She called over her shoulder to Spike; already spinning to plant another foot into Xander's quickly approaching chest to fling him back again.  
  
There was no way he was human.  
  
"I'm not leaving you!" Spike shouted.  
  
"GO!" Buffy snarled, using a flurry of fists and feet to fend Xander back, but every blow only seemed to re-invigorate his attack. He recovered faster and faster from each blow and the hits he managed to score against her drew blood and bruises.  
  
She couldn't focus on Spike, her entire being moved into combat mode. She seized Xander's shirt and flung him across the length of the basement letting him slam into the wall and rebound. Combat was what she'd been born and bread for. It flowed in her veins like fiery steel, shaping her hands and feet into weapons.  
  
Latching a hand around a piece of copper rebar, she yanked it down and went on the offensive. A portion of her mind shouted a protest at attacking Xander; another part coldly shut it down. This wasn't Xander. Whatever it was, construct, corpse, reanimated flesh, what made it Xander perished more than a year before.  
  
This was an extension of Willow's hate, reanimated by her power and sent to serve one purpose. Buffy was about to return the favor. She dealt vicious blows against his form that should have staggered him. The more force she used, the more he took until soon he was the one driving her back; then up the stairs and into the kitchen. She was helpless to prevent the dishes smashing in the cupboards as she flung him across the kitchen counter into the cabinets.  
  
Twirling the rebar and debating how much force it would take to knock his head from his shoulders, she drew up short at the sound of a very familiar voice chastising her.  
  
Her gaze split between Xander's cackling face and Willow's darkly amused one. The witch stood framed in the kitchen doorway once more, one piece of dark red hair curled around her finger. But the sight behind Willow staggered her more.  
  
It was the impossible. She twisted away too late to avoid the crash of Xander's fist into the side of her head; she caught her temple in a double blow off the corner of the table. Mercifully, blackness rushed up to engulf her. She couldn't have seen Spike, trapped between Drusilla and Angelus in broad daylight being drained.  
  
She couldn't possibly.  
  
  
  
4.1.1.3 The Inevitable  
  
Consciousness returned slowly, painfully. Every muscle seemed filled with an indefinable ache. Head splitting with agony. Mouth dry and stuffed with cotton. Chest, neck. The mental inventory did nothing to encourage waking up.  
  
Maybe it would be better to just sleep.  
  
Eyes closing, not even being aware that they were open. The darkness should bring blissful release from the pain. But it doesn't go away. Like an aching joint, it just reacts with a continuous monotony. Get up, it suggests. Get up and move. Relieve the pain.  
  
How the hell would moving relieve the pain?  
  
Thirsty.  
  
Really thirsty.  
  
Burning thirst. Lips feel dry, cracked.  
  
How long have I been out?  
  
The pain's intensity increases until hands lift of their own accord to pound against the prison. It is a prison too. A solid slab of stone. It must weigh a ton. Hands become fists. Fists begin to pound.  
  
Harder and harder they strike.  
  
The pain pours force into the blows, the stone begins to shift. Putting more force into it, the combination of pummeling and shoveling sends it crashing away. The pain is unbearable now and the hands are almost totally destroyed hunks of meat, bloody and torn all over.  
  
A grunt and exertion to pull out of the box, whatever it was. It's still dark. But eyes are adjusting, absorbing what remains of light within the room. Eyes travel until they fall on a figure. The pain inside seems to redouble.  
  
"Buffy?" Oh. God. The sound of his voice sends a hand to touch his face. He feels the protruding forehead, the bared fangs that are malforming his mouth. Of course the burning pain is familiar, he knows this maddening agony, this insatiable desire to feed.  
  
He was a vampire.  
  
Again.  
  
He threw his head back and howled. It was a howl filled with rage, despair, fury and impotence. A thousand questions tumbled through his mind, but none could supersede the desire that burned like hot fire through his belly.  
  
Yellowed eyes flicked to where she hung from the wall. Her arms were chained twice and strung over her head. She was unconscious and there was a thick black welt along her forehead. His nose twitched and his tongue flicked out over his teeth in an involuntary response. He could smell the blood on her.  
  
He swallowed involuntarily and grabbed the edge of the sarcophagus. He looked around the room slowly and the howl that escaped this time was half hysterical despair and laughter. It was his crypt.  
  
They were back.  
  
Only this back was Hell.  
  
He turned the pained yellow eyes back towards her unconscious form and the blood lust roared in his ears like a tide driving him towards the inevitable rocks. He needed to feed. He needed to desperately. The tomb was sealed; he didn't have to check the doors to figure that out. He knew Drusilla and Angelus too well.  
  
Perhaps Willow, too.  
  
Her ultimate revenge. Have one lover kill another.  
  
And this time, there was no bloody chip to prevent it.  
  
He dug his fingers into his bloodied palms, increasing the pain in the abused digits. He couldn't do this. He couldn't feed off her.  
  
He couldn't.  
  
He wouldn't.  
  
How absolutely ironic? He laughed despairingly. A world where we could be together.  
  
A world where we could destroy each other.  
  
Fate must be laughing at me, he thought viciously. And if fate dared to stick its head in here, he'd bloody well rip it's head off.  
  
He pounded his hands on the floor, not even realizing that he'd knelt down. The rage was swelling in him now. He had to eat. He had to feed. The desire was overwhelming the reason. It was like this the first time he awoke; only then he'd been a victim to the overwhelming desire for hot blood. He'd fed and fed and fed some more. Drusilla rejoiced in the sheer savagery he'd employed to sate this overwhelming desire.  
  
But he could not.  
  
He would not...  
  
Think of something else, he ordered himself. Think of Giles. Yes. Think of lectures and boring operas. Where Vikings slay other Vikings and the blood runs free --  
  
His moans turned to sobs as the lust refused to be distracted. His eyes traveled wildly around the crypt. There had to be wood here. Wood. Stakes.  
  
Yes.  
  
He'd make her a stake.  
  
Gasping from the pain, he stumbled away from the sarcophagus to deeper in the crypt.  
  
He knew this place.  
  
He'd find wood somewhere.  
  
  
  
4.1.1.4 Fate  
  
Consciousness returned with alacrity she wished she could have avoided. Her arms were asleep and the first motion of lifting her head sent spears of agony lancing down her spine. The pain rushed awareness through her mind like a splash of cold water. Her right eye felt swollen and it was difficult to focus. The room was murky.  
  
There wasn't much in the way of light to make sense of the shadows layered upon shadows. She ran her tongue over a swollen lip and tasted the dried blood there. She needed to figure out where she was and what was happening. To do that, she needed to know how badly she was injured.  
  
Injured.  
  
Spike.  
  
Her head jerked left then right sending pain shattering inside her skull. She suppressed the whimper that tried to break free. They'd been killing him.  
  
Killing him.  
  
He was mortal.  
  
He could die.  
  
A fist reached into her chest and squeezed her heart with agonizing force. Breathe, she ordered herself. She had to breathe. She couldn't falter now. It could have been a hallucination. It had been daylight outside.  
  
An illusion.  
  
Yes, Willow could have cast an illusion. Shown her something to terrify and distract her.  
  
Swallowing around the hard lump in her throat, she went back to assessing her situation. Her arms were screaming from being locked in position for too long. There was dried blood on her face. She remembered hitting the table, faintly. That must have been what did her in. The blow to the temple. Despite Xander's strength, his blows were not as bad as some she'd taken.  
  
Testing her legs, she found the strength returning to them gradually. Like her arms, they were sleeping and lances of pain shot through them as motion returned. She pushed up gradually, trying not to stumble and felt the relief in her arms as she made it to standing and leaned against the wall.  
  
Listing her options, the first one looked good. She was still alive. Though, depending on what Willow and her little undead freak show had planned, that might not be a good thing. She tested the chains with a little jerk. Her shoulders protested, but she did her best to ignore the pain.  
  
The chains rattled as she gave them another hard yank. Deja vu washed over her as she recalled the last time she woke up this way. Her lips twitched faintly recalling Cordelia's squeals and screams. She'd been strong enough then to yank those chains out of the wall. She gritted her teeth and gave it another solid yank. She felt the bolt loosen some and rewarded it with another yank.  
  
It was just about to give when she heard the movement.  
  
Her eyes flickered to the darkness. There was something there. She could sense it.  
  
No, she could more than sense it.  
  
She was aware of it.  
  
Whatever it was, it was aware of her.  
  
And it was getting closer.  
  
Buffy gathered up the threads of her strength and gave another mighty yank, the bolt shook itself free and her arms fell down, still shackled, with a length of chain extending from each wrist, but she was free of the wall. She shifted onto the balls of her feet and ignored the protesting muscles.  
  
Her eyes darted through the shadows, the right one still watery and refusing to focus.  
  
It was still there.  
  
Tilting her head slightly, she slowed her breathing so to almost nothing and listened.  
  
She shifted her posture and her stance, pivoting to the right, which is where it was lurking. Her right muscle calf screamed in protest and seized up, catching her off guard and driving her to one knee. Letting out a hiss of pain, she scowled into the darkness.  
  
"It's me Slayer."  
  
"Oh, god. Spike." She felt relief flush through her and struggled back to her feet. Half stumbling, she pushed into the darkness.  
  
"No!" He barked.  
  
"Where are you? I can hardly see anything."  
  
"Just..just stay there."  
  
"Are you all right? I had this awful vision of -- well it doesn't matter. It was impossible. Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm --" His voice hesitated, it seemed deeper, darker as if he were far away and too close all at once. "I'm fine, Slayer. Sit down before you fall down."  
  
"We need to get out of here."  
  
"That -- that will take some time."  
  
"Spike, where are you? Are you chained? I'm free. I can get you loose." She started following the length of wall.  
  
"No!" He barked again.  
  
"What's the matter with you?"  
  
"Nothi--just stay there. I'm fine. Rest. You need to keep up your strength." His last words came out as more of a moan.  
  
"Spike, please...where are you, let me help you."  
  
Yellow eyes leered up out of the dark in front of her, so suddenly that her breath exploded from her body in a whoosh.  
  
"You can't help me." He snarled. "Don't you see?" His laughter was colored with tears. "They left you here for me to kill."  
  
"Oh my God." Horror stole through her. Even in what little light was afforded in the pit she awoke in, she could see the facial protrusions, his fangs gleamed, but most of all, his eyes seemed to glow with an unholy light of their own.  
  
"Yes, your God." Spike spit. "Damned I am and damned it seems I'm supposed to stay. So go sit down. Do what I tell you."  
  
She reached out a hand only to feel him flinch violently away. "Spike, I've seen you like this be--"  
  
He grasped her suddenly and slammed her into the wall, the force of his strength so much a match for her own. Her muscles screamed at the new form of abuse, but she didn't fight him. "You've never seen me like this." He growled. "You have no idea what this is. You should, but you couldn't begin to comprehend. I had over a hundred years to learn how to control my hunger and then a chip that made decisions for me whether I liked it or not. You-- you cannot know the power of this."  
  
"I know you." Buffy said slowly. "I knew before and I know you now."  
  
He laughed and released her, stumbling away with his hands to his head. The low, keening noise rent at her. "You don't know anything Slayer. I'm a vampire. A demon. A killer."  
  
"You're more than that. You've been my friend and my lover and my companion. You are so much more than that." She didn't know who she was arguing with, him or herself.  
  
"When -- when you are turned. You awake to the beast. The beast wants to be fed. It has to be fed. It is desperate to be fed. Don't you understand?" He was there in front of her again, moving with the viciousness of a predator enraged. "I have to feed. The only thing here for me to feed on is YOU!"  
  
Carefully as she dared, she reached a hand out to touch his face. The hard, taut skin that was the mask of the beast inside him. That ravening killer that she always protested that he was. This creature of darkness that murdered to sate the savage hunger within.  
  
"Then feed on me if you need it." She said quietly.  
  
"No." Spike shook his head.  
  
"I fed Angel when he needed it, I'll feed you."  
  
"I'm not that bloody poofster. I don't want a drop of your blood. Ever. Never again will I hunt you. I don't care what they do."  
  
"Spike, you are not the creature they think you are. They thought you'd awake mindless, hungry, and eager for the kill. But you're still you inside. They've just given you back the form you had before." She stroked her hand down his cheek, his flinch was barely imperceptible, but he didn't pull away. "You are stronger than they could ever know."  
  
"It hurts." He responded weakly. "This hunger hurts, you don't know what it does to you inside. This raving need to feed it. This desire that cannot be stopped, cannot be quenched unless it is quenched in blood." He turned his face into her hand, his lips kissing the palm. She could feel the roughness of the fangs there.  
  
"Then feed, I know you can stop without taking too much. I know you can take enough to ease your pain. Then we'll get out of this."  
  
"No." He shook his head. "I don't know that I can stop. You don't know this beast."  
  
She took his face firmly in her hands, preventing him from turning away. "Yes, I do. I know this beast very well. This beast is the part of the man that had me in his bed for hours, at his mercy and could have taken it any time it wanted. It didn't."  
  
"Because the man in me does not want that."  
  
"I think the man and the beast are one, Spike. The same way the woman and the Slayer in me are one."  
  
"I don't want to feed off you. I don't want to be something you hate, that repulses you...not again."  
  
"You don't repulse me. You didn't ask for this, you didn't make yourself this way. You can choose, Spike. And you have been choosing."  
  
"It's because it was you, Slayer. I can't guarantee some other poor soul would have been as lucky."  
  
"Spike -- " She took a deep breath, holding his face cupped in her hands. "I trust you." Then before he could stop her, she leaned in and kissed him, slowly at first, nibbling along his lips, almost begging him to respond.  
  
"Don't," he murmured, keeping his mouth firmly closed. "I don't know if I can stop."  
  
"I do." She whispered. "I trust you."  
  
It was as though the words were too much; his mouth opened and devoured hers. It was a kiss like every other kiss they'd shared, but more so. The violence was kinetic between, electricity that arced and returned the voltage three-fold. She felt her tongue graze on his teeth, and didn't care. What so repulsed her about Angel in this form did not remotely touch what she shared with Spike, his lips moved from hers, caressing down the line of her jaw.  
  
She knew it was coming and closed her eyes, leaning her head back and gripping his shoulders. She felt the sharp puncture of his teeth driving into her throat and clenched his shirt so tightly she felt her fingertips would bleed.  
  
He would stop. She knew he would.  
  
She trusted him.  
  
4.1.1.5 Rebirth  
  
He lowered her to lie against the wall, stripping off his jacket to lie over the top of her. The sound of stone and metal protesting sent his gaze to the entrance. The door was shifting and finally opened. The sky outside was deep purple.  
  
Sunset.  
  
"Welcome!" Drusilla's musically lilting voice greeted him. He rose slowly, even taking the time to dust off his pants. She descended towards him, a gossamer angel of death. "Woke to a new world, new world of color and sound." She reached her hands up towards his mouth, which was still damp with the Slayer's blood. He didn't think twice about it, his hands shot out and knocked her aside.  
  
The backhand caught Drusilla off guard; she was flung away and hit the ground with graceless thump. She touched her own cheek curiously. "He's mad, Daddy. You were right. He's mad."  
  
"Well, ain't that just a stinker." Angelus grinned toothily from the doorway. "Kinda makes me feel oh yeah, like I could care. Let's go, boy. We have work to do."  
  
Spike took a stance, cracking the knuckles of each of his hands then smirked. "Sod off, wanker. I don't feature working for you."  
  
"Oh, you don't? Well you ain't got much choice. She wanted you, we made you. Now let's go." Angelus took a threatening step forward and Spike snorted. He bent down, seizing Drusilla by an arm and flung her at Angelus with force. She flew into Angelus chest and rebounded, hitting the wall and looking excited by the treatment. Angelus made no attempt to steady her.  
  
"Oooh, he's everything that I dreamed he would be." She sighed longingly. "I'll take care of him Daddy. You go do the work for the witch with the itch."  
  
Spike found himself staring at Dru and wondering about the attraction and love he'd felt for so many years. She really was just insane. Plain and simple.  
  
Angelus growled and jabbed a finger in Spike's direction. "You better get it together. The Slayer was a gift. You won't be able to survive on your own for long without us, pathetic little scholar." He disappeared into the night, leaving Spike and Drusilla to each other.  
  
Relaxing his stance somewhat, Spike ran his tongue over his lips. Drusilla rocked from side to side near the doorway, a smile playing on her doll like features. "What do you want?" Spike asked her.  
  
"To play. To be together. I saw you in a dream, remember?"  
  
"Oh, that's right. You dream up these little fancies of yours. The rest of us are just puppets for the play."  
  
She giggled with delight and clapped her hands. "Come, play with me. The night is ours now. This place, we will make a kingdom. Angelus and his witch, Drusilla and her -- what do I call you, William?"  
  
Casually, he started towards her. He felt strength roaring through him. The dizzying effect of Slayer blood left in its wake a euphoria that couldn't be described. Where the pain and hunger raged, they were sated beyond measure, sated in a manner that left him stronger than he'd been in months.  
  
No, make that years. No goat's blood or sheep's blood or cow's blood could infuse him with such power. He'd weakened in the three years of being chipped, weakened gradually, but steadily. It slowed him in fights, allowing others an advantage they might never have possessed. He remained alive because in many ways, what made him vicious was a desperate desire for survival.  
  
As he seized Drusilla's arms and yanked her towards him, he heard her whimper of desire and excitement. It repulsed him. "Out." He ordered her and shoved her ahead of him out of the crypt. Darkness was falling like a blanket across Sunnydale. The air smelled different, he could pick out the various odors from decomposition, to living, to grass, to moss and fungus.  
  
There was a faint roar from a nearby street, cars scurrying through the darkness carrying their unknowing passengers to safety. They hoped. Overhead, in the distance he could hear a plane, perhaps preparing to land and deposit the unwitting into the mouth of hell. And yes, there it was, the crisping of energy, like a black hole where all light rushes so quickly that it is swallowed and crushed.  
  
The Hellmouth.  
  
He could feel the violence in this place. The earth steeped in blood and the air ripe with possibilities. This power that flowed through every rock, tree, crevice and gully was what drew him to Sunnydale to begin with. It was this power that would heal Dru from her afflictions, make her whole and return to him the companion he was so faithfully devoted to.  
  
What an idiot.  
  
"William?" Drusilla's hand ran down his arm, stroking, while her head lolled onto his shoulder. She was kittenish, sweet and alluring. The smell of the Slayer's blood on him was exciting her. He remembered the Boxer Rebellion, the battle. The dance. The final fall.  
  
He closed his eyes, sucking in the memory of the blood. The hot, powerful taste of what a Slayer could do for him. The infusion of so much power dazzled him then, leaving him weak and in thrall to the beast which rejoiced.  
  
Yes, he remembered what it did for Dru. As casually as knocking aside a fly, he caught her with a backhanded swat that sent her tumbling into a gravestone. He garnered his position with a glance and started walking. Drusilla was already on her feet and pursuing him. He knew she was confused and probably extremely excited. Nothing excited her as much as abuse.  
  
Nothing except dishing out her own abuse.  
  
The snap of a twig warned him and he moved aside, feeling her hand graze him, clawing and leaving a deep score of marks across his cheek. "Bitch." He commented as she rounded, eyes alight with fire of their own. He struck her with every ounce of strength he had. His reward was her crumpling to the earth, unconsciousness seizing her.  
  
"She really is a bit twisted." A new voice inserted itself into the mix.  
  
He touched the back of his hand to the already healing marks and turned to eye Willow who strolled out from behind a tree. She wore black leather or rather, it sported her clinging to every curve, emphasizing her slightly cut figure and adding to the ambience of the energy, which crackled around her.  
  
"So, Red. What do you want?" His demon mask was still firmly in place, his tongue slid over a tooth and his expression didn't change.  
  
"I thought we might reach an accommodation." She strolled towards him, a seductive sway to her hips. There was something remarkably dark and untouchable about her, yet she was presenting herself to him in a manner that suggested otherwise. Like Drusilla before her, she trailed a finger down his arm.  
  
"Sorry, I don't do leftovers. Especially Angelus'," he smirked insultingly and was rewarded by her laughter and a stinging slap, that was physical and magical in one. He shook his head and resumed the smirk. The blow hurt like hell atop the scratches, but he would be damned before he revealed that to her.  
  
"I wouldn't mind you for my bed. But it's a bit booked at the moment. No, I want you for something else. You do this little job for me and your debt will be paid. You will be free to go."  
  
"What sodden debt?" Spike snorted.  
  
"The debt for your life." She drew the finger up his arm to his chest, resting her hand over where his heart no longer beat. "Angelus wanted to simply kill you. Xander wanted to eat you. I saved you from both of them. I let Drusilla change you and I left you the Slayer to feast on."  
  
"So, I owe all this to you, do I?" Spike's voice dipped into dangerous territory.  
  
"Yes, you do." She replied simply.  
  
"What do you want for this -- favor?" He asked.  
  
"Go to the Summers household, retrieve for me my familiar and the Watcher. That's all. Very simple." She smiled, all cold and unfeeling  
  
"Small problem with that, Red. I can't just walk in the door." He smirked.  
  
"So ring the bell, put on your white hat face and ask politely. I'm sure they will let you in. And then you bring me what I need. After that, you're free to go." She smiled again, painting a picture of utter simplicity.  
  
"And if they don't buy it? I mean a zombie rather destroyed the kitchen yesterday. You don't think they won't be wary of everything?"  
  
Willow shrugged. "That's not my problem. It will be yours if you unsuccessful. Now go be a good puppy and fetch."  
  
Spike's hand struck like a cobra, his fingers wrapping around her throat and hoisting her off the ground. If she were startled, she didn't show it. One squeeze, one hard squeeze with a twist and her little power trip with a twist would be a thing of the past.  
  
Her eyes glittered at him as he slowly started to increase his grip. Her mouth grimaced into a smile and he heard a faint sound of whirring. Glancing over his shoulder he saw stake twirling in the air behind him, twirling perfectly where it would drive into his heart from the back. Looking back at his captive, he felt his lips curl back further.  
  
He could kill her; she would kill him as she died.  
  
The chances were good that she might survive such an attack, while he would not.  
  
With a sound of disgust he released her and heard the stake hit the ground in the same moment.  
  
"So," she croaked, returning to her feet and rubbing her neck. "We have a deal?"  
  
"Do I have a choice?"  
  
"No. not really. Now go fetch. When you have what I need, you'll find me at a mansion on the far side of town. Angelus has kindly donated it for the cause."  
  
"Thrill." He knew that somehow she was going to be watching him. He dared not risk a glance back. Making a show of dusting off his clothes, he nodded at her once and strolled off. He was neither going to hurry nor dawdle.  
  
He was simply going to take his time.  
  
A sound of energy crackling told him that Willow whisked herself off however she was doing so these days. But there were still eyes on him. As he left the graveyard behind, the shuffling followed. It was probably Gitboy the Zombie.  
  
Talk about just making his night. He cursed briefly and twisted his direction to head for the Summers home, while somewhere below the cemetery, in the crypt, Buffy's eyes popped open.  
  
  
  
5 ENDGAME  
  
5.1.1.1.1 Hazard  
  
She gave herself a moment before achieving her feet. The crypt door stood wedged open. Her throat ached abominably, a light burn where he'd sunk in his teeth and it added to the overall sensation of bruising that made her want to find a long, hot bubble bath, some Alleve and maybe a cup of hot cocoa before passing out for several hours.  
  
No rest for the wicked or the righteous on this night. And it was night outside; she could see that from where she was sitting. The jacket he'd left her kept her warm as she slept off the blood-loss induced faint. She gathered the silken tweed to her and inhaled the scent that lingered in the fibers.  
  
It felt oddly weighted and she ran her fingers around the inside. Two stakes came into her hand, roughly made from snapped coffin handles but more than sufficient for the tasks she'd need. For a moment she wondered at their presence, then decided that was a query that would have to wait for later.  
  
Spike wasn't in the crypt any longer. She could only assume they'd come back for him. What that meant or entailed, she dared to not wonder aloud. Rolling her head around, she touched the wound on her neck briefly, but felt that the holes were already scabbed over. A hand to her forehead said the gash there was still sealed. She'd need to eat and sleep to really rejuvenate. She was going to be slower, the pulled muscles and bruises were already protesting her intent before she'd even engaged her body.  
  
She ignored it. There would be time for rest later or she would be dead. Either way, her body would see an end to the vitriolic abuse she'd put it through. Laying his jacket gently to the side, she slid one of the stakes up her sleeve and gripped the other lightly.  
  
Stepping from the crypt into the graveyard, her eyes slid around the stones, searching carefully and listening with equal care. Something moved a few feet away and she saw the gossamer before she saw the longhaired figure reaching a hand up to drag itself to its feet.  
  
It was a cold smile that twisted itself on her face. She walked towards the rising figure with purpose; one might almost suggest a spring in her step. She paused, letting Drusilla compose herself before clearing her throat.  
  
The vampire whirled, her eyes cloudy and disoriented. "You're dead," she commented groggily.  
  
"You know, I get that lot." Buffy smiled, and then let the stake go with a flick of her wrist.  
  
"Oh bother," Drusilla whimpered as she glanced down at the stake imbedded in her chest. She gave Buffy one brief look of petty confusion mingled with malevolence before disintegrating into dust.  
  
"That," Buffy looked at the dust. "Feels like the first decent thing I've done in weeks. Creepy chick." Glancing first left, then right, Buffy contemplated her next move. Drusilla was eliminated. That still left Willow, Angelus and the newly risen Xander and who knew what else Willow'd cooked up during the last few days. Giving her the time to do her damage was a tactical mistake, she should have hunted her down sooner but she'd been hoping that time might cool her ire, instead, it simply fed right into the madness consuming her former friend.  
  
Pursing her lips, she thought about Spike and felt a momentary worry that quickly chased itself away. Spike was more than capable of taking care of himself and possessed an advantage that no one in Sunnydale save herself and Giles was aware of.  
  
Giles.  
  
They'd go for Giles next.  
  
She was running before the thought completed itself.  
  
5.1.1.1.2 Black Knight  
  
"Are you sure this is going to work?" Spike looked skeptical from where he stood behind Giles. The Watcher was bent over a table marking notations on a page filled with them.  
  
"If you've a better idea," Giles suggested dryly. "I'm all ears."  
  
"'Fraid not. William's still too far gone in shock from the change." He'd as much as admitted his return to nature from the moment he'd arrived. The gitboy zombie was bound and gagged with chains in the corner. They'd gagged him when the yowling started. "I'm just not sure about tripping Red's spell. She'll know."  
  
"Of course, she'll know." Giles straightened and avoided looking at the seething, fuming remains of Xander in the corner. "There is one point to magic that I'm afraid Willow's never quite understood."  
  
"The price."  
  
"Exactly. For every spell she casts, there is a reaction. When her spells are broken, she's going to know, but if we break it right --"  
  
"-- it should cripple her, however briefly."  
  
"Sounds like a great plan," Buffy interrupted from behind them. "Can anyone play?"  
  
Spike turned at the sound of her voice and smiled. He'd known she was fine when he left her, but knowing intellectually and seeing her in person was two entirely different concepts. Relief flooded through him.  
  
"You're all right."  
  
"I told you I would be."  
  
"I know, it's just good to see."  
  
"Good to see you in one piece, too. I was worried --"  
  
"I'm sorry, they showed up and I couldn't --"  
  
"I know, you don't have to apolog--"  
  
"This is really very lovely and a touching moment," Giles interjected. "But do you think we could save the soap opera reunion for another time?"  
  
"Oh, now he sounds just like --" He broke off his sentence when Buffy touched his arm. Her familiar smile and touch cooled his train of thought and he nodded. "Right, business first. Pleasure later."  
  
"Thank you for that mental imagery." Giles sighed. "Now, back to the problem at hand." He gestured towards Xander who was redoubling his efforts, struggling with the bonds that held him. Spike and Buffy followed his gaze. "I've located a spell that is most likely the one Willow used. Thankfully, her experience is limited to a great deal of my collection. She experiments though, which I've always advised against -- "  
  
"Giles, no lectures. Just tell me what we need to do here." It was Buffy's turn to interrupt.  
  
"Right then. Buffy, I need some of his hair, a piece of his clothing and a bit of skin. Spike," Giles produced a small list from his notepad. "I'll need these ingredients. You'll find most of them in the cabinet upstairs in the kitchen."  
  
"Right." Spike took the list, looked it over briefly and nodded once. "I'm on it." He disappeared up the stairs as Buffy went towards the thrashing figure in the corner. Looking at the list, Spike found the cabinet easily enough. The components were relatively simple and he started sorting through the jars, pulling down the ones he recognized immediately and checking the labels for the rest.  
  
His hand paused near one jar and he frowned briefly. It looked right, but the label didn't match the item on the list. Suddenly he found himself missing William with such profundity that it staggered him. The internal voice, present for such a brief time, was gone. He listened for it, searching for some remnant. All that remained was emptiness where William once lived before.  
  
Spike sighed and pulled another jar down. Poor bloke, wrong place, wrong time. He'd been decent enough, even about the possession, this shouldn't have happened to him. A slow burn began to writhe in his belly as he considered it.  
  
Red. Dammit, she'd been decent enough. Stupid about the magick, but then weren't most magic-users? He scowled as he worked. She was destroyed over Tara. He knew what that was like. Look at what Drusilla put him through.  
  
Yeah, she was still alive, but that didn't change it. He'd been love's bitch, but he'd not razed down every innocent in his--  
  
A shopkeeper.  
  
A homeless man.  
  
A prostitute.  
  
A boy barely old enough to drive.  
  
No -- that had been different.  
  
Hadn't it?  
  
His stomach clenched and it felt like his bowels were going to explode. Only those weren't functions that worried him in this state. He felt hot, then cold, and then hot again. Grabbing the counter, Spike wrestled with the mixed feelings of illness and rage that washed through him.  
  
What the hell was wrong with him?  
  
5.1.1.1.3 Pawns  
  
Buffy took to her task grimly. Despite his thrashing, she removed clips of his hair, a portion of clothing, scrapes of skin and cut him to get the blood. It was dirty work, she was suited to it and she didn't complain. Her mind acknowledged that while the physical body was Xander's, the personality, the hate, it didn't belong.  
  
"I don't understand how she could raise Xander, but she couldn't raise Tara." Buffy wondered aloud as she brought back the requested items to the table.  
  
"She didn't really raise him from the dead. She restored the physical form, the memories and colored them with her own fury." Giles glanced up from his notes. "Emotion is a powerful ingredient to magic, but it's also a powerful inhibitor. It takes rigorous control, focus and unbending desire to restore life. It's also one of the most costly spells to a spell caster. It can burn them out for weeks, months, sometimes forever."  
  
"She raised me." Buffy chewed her lip, laying the items where Giles pointed her. The overwhelming fatigue she felt was like background music now and she ran on autopilot until further needed.  
  
"Buffy," Giles paused to focus his gaze on her. "I've thought about that a great deal since you and Wi--Spike told me your story. There are only a handful of spell casters in the world who could have pulled off what she did. I doubt you'd want to know any of them."  
  
Nodding slowly, she slid into a chair before her legs collapsed.  
  
"The spell requires a blood sacrifice and a desire that only the soul being called back can fulfill. That single, solitary soul is the only one in all creation that can serve the spell caster's request." Giles pulled his glasses off and fished out his handkerchief and wiped them slowly. "That being the case, I would surmise that Willow's choice to raise you was not the altruistic act she advertised it to be."  
  
"She wanted me back," Buffy began slowly. "She wanted me specifically --"  
  
" -- because she lost her place in life with you gone." Spike finished the statement as he edged his way down the steps carrying a burden of jars in a small cardboard box. "She was selfish and vain. She needed you to exist because you defined her life and without you present, she would have to take the responsibility of her own actions. She couldn't cope with that."  
  
"Precisely." Giles nodded briefly. "That would be my best guess. Her actions were based completely on selfish motivations. They would also indicate the first step in her downfall."  
  
"So I really am responsible for how she is." Buffy, ran a hand over her mouth and bit her lip, her eyes sought out Spike's and she frowned at something she saw there, but before she could respond to it, Giles was speaking again.  
  
"No, you are not responsible for what happened to Willow." The Watcher was extremely firm. "Willow in this world and in your own is the sum of the choices she has made."  
  
"But couldn't we have intervened?"  
  
"Were you not helping her with this -- magical addiction?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then you did what you could. Buffy, you must have realized by now that you cannot protect people from themselves. We must all make our own choices. You did not force Willow or Xander to join you in your crusade, quite the opposite actually. You didn't want them to be endangered; you discouraged them at every opportunity. You ran away from them, you drove them away and you went without them on numerous occasions. They were a source of great strength and great weakness for you." Giles held her gaze firmly. "But you are the Slayer. What you were, they could never be except to bask in the glow that you cast."  
  
"Only it's more of a shadow." Spike set down his burden and leaned against the table. "Don't you see it pet? You were their leader, their hero and who they aspired to be. They put you on a bleeding pedestal. You defined that which was good and special about them. Without you --"  
  
"--they are ordinary humans very aware of extraordinary world. They can never be normal again, but what made them special - namely you - is no longer a part of their world." Giles nodded in agreement with Spike's assessment, completing the final thought.  
  
"But Spike -- Dawn -- they were going on without me."  
  
"Didn't see much choice in that, Pet. I'd have given anything to change what happened, but I didn't believe it possible, not without the possibility of making it more wrong than before." Spike's eyes still held that strange emotion as he gazed into her eyes. "They knew that. It was why they kept me from knowing what they were up to. Willow knew you might come back wrong. I would never have let her destroy what came back, the others couldn't know, Willow held them too closely in thrall."  
  
"Look, children," Giles glanced first at Spike, then at Buffy. "Listen to me carefully, remorse and guilt serve only to isolate you from those that care and from the world around you. We all make choices we regret. Living with those consequences can be difficult, but running away is not an option. Not for long. The past will find you, you either brave it out, face up to the choices you have made and accept that they seemed to be the thing to do at the time based on your intelligence, experience and emotional states. Or you don't. If you choose the former, then know that as you go forward, you will confront new experiences with this experience to serve your judgment better. If you choose the latter, then you might as well leave this world behind, because either you live or you don't."  
  
Both of them were silent as he chastised them and Giles sighed at their mutual expressions of dismay before smiling faintly. "There is something deeply ironic that a Slayer and a Vampire are so eaten up by the remorse of their actions that they may as well be the same person."  
  
The words did what they were meant to, Buffy looked to Spike. "Remorse?"  
  
"Yeah. But the Watcher's right. It's not the time for it."  
  
"I'm sorry, Spike."  
  
"Don't be, Pet. I've no true regrets at the moment."  
  
"And later?"  
  
"We'll deal with that then."  
  
"Excellent notion." Giles finished composing his components and looked towards their prisoner. "Let us dispense with this, then plan our next course of action."  
  
Buffy followed Giles' gaze and saw the rabid fury in Xander's eyes. She felt a momentary pang of pity. This wasn't her Xander, but the Buffy whose body she shared cared for him deeply. Even if the soul that inhabited him was only the frenzied hate that was consuming her friend, the pity remained.  
  
"Are you ready?" Giles asked her quietly.  
  
"No." Buffy said solemnly. "But let's do it anyway."  
  
She reached out and intertwined her fingers with Spike's as Giles stepped forward, book in hand. He would cast the spell. That which was Xander would be removed once more, the natural order reasserting itself. Much like Spike's being a vampire. She squeezed Spike's hand and wondered if she would have to return to her own grave to make her world right again, to restore the order that was so vastly destroyed from what it had before.  
  
They were all pawns to this madness that consumed them.  
  
Pawns of fate.  
  
Pawns of the past.  
  
Pawns of hate.  
  
Pawns of the future cast.  
  
6 Promises  
  
Willow was carefully taking out her packed lunch and how healthy it was. Buffy approached her, offering a tentative smile. "Uh, hi. Willow, right?"  
  
"Why? I mean Hi. Did you want me to move?"  
  
"Why don't we start with "hi, I'm Buffy."" Buffy took the seat next to her. "And then let's segue directly into me asking you for a favor. It doesn't involve moving, but it does involve you hanging out with me for a while."  
  
"But aren't you… hanging with Cordelia?"  
  
"I can't do both?"  
  
"Not legally."  
  
***  
  
"I don't actually date a whole lot… lately." Willow smiled shyly.  
  
"Why not?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Well, when I'm with a boy I like, it's hard for me to say anything cool, or witty, or at all… I can usually make a few vowel sounds, and then I have to go away."  
  
Buffy laughs. "It's not that bad."  
  
"It is. I think boys are more interested in a girl who can talk." Willow protested.  
  
"You really haven't been dating lately."  
  
"It's probably easy for you."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Real easy." Buffy shook her head forlornly.  
  
"I mean, you don't seem too shy."  
  
Buffy shrugs, offering her another smile. "Well, my philosophy is – do you wanna hear my philosophy?"  
  
"I do."  
  
"Life is short." Buffy announced.  
  
"Life is short." Willow repeated.  
  
"Not original, I'll grant you. But it's true. Why waste time being all shy? Why worry about some guy and if he's gonna laugh at you? You know? Seize the moment. 'Cause tomorrow you might be dead." How absolutely she believed in that.  
  
"Oh… That's nice…"  
  
***  
  
Willow was sitting on her bed, knees drawn up, freaked. Buffy has thrown a jacket over the dress and sitting on the bed as well.  
  
  
  
"I've seen so much, I thought I could take anything. But Buff.... This was... this was different, it..."  
  
"It's okay..."  
  
"I'm trying to think how to say it. To explain it so you understand."  
  
"Willow, as long as you're okay --"  
  
"I'm not okay. I can't imagine what it's like to be okay. I knew those guys. I go to that room every day. And when I walked in there, it was... It wasn't our world anymore. They made it theirs. And they had fun." Bitterness colored her last word that it sent Buffy's gaze away, to the world that lurked beyond the safe confines of this room.  
  
"What are we gonna do?"  
  
"What we have to." She decided, in that moment, decided to live out the fate that destiny set for her. She had no choice. Her job was to protect people like Willow from the horrors that were an everyday occurrence. "You'll stay in tonight, all right?" She asked Willow, frowning at her.  
  
Willow nod relieved some portion of the anxiety. "I tried to reach Xander, but he's  
  
not picking up. I'll go by his house tomorrow. We'll get together and figure out what to do."  
  
"Tomorrow."  
  
Buffy started to go and one hand was on the door when Willow called to her. "Buffy. I like your dress."  
  
"Take care." She bid her friend farewell; fully believing this was the last time she would see her and that after tonight, the shadow that darkened her world would pass.  
  
  
  
***  
  
"I'm kind of curious to find out what sort of career I could have."  
  
***  
  
"It is nice. He's great. We have a lot of fun. But I want some smootchies."  
  
  
  
"Have you dropped any hints?"  
  
  
  
"I've dropped anvils."  
  
  
  
"He'll come around. What guy could resist your wily, Willow charms?"  
  
  
  
"At last count? All of them. Maybe more."  
  
***  
  
"But weird, too. Rejection I can handle from my long years of training in the field. But this…"  
  
***  
  
"Oh, Buffy. You know, I don't even think Giles is right about you becoming like a demon. He's totally burnt, dealing with Faith and this Ascension thing. Between you and me, he's not doing his best work."  
  
***  
  
"Sounds like your mom's in a state of denial." Willow offered.  
  
  
  
"More like a continent of denial. She's got to realize I can't leave. U.C. Sunnydale. At least I got in."  
  
  
  
"Well, maybe not now. But soon. Maybe. Or maybe I too hail from Denialland."  
  
***  
  
"I've got the basics down: levitation, charms, glamours… I just feel like I've plateaued, Wicca-wise." Willow grinned.  
  
  
  
"What's the next level?"  
  
  
  
"Transmutation, conjuring…Bringing forth something from nothing… It gets you pretty close to the primal forces. A little scary…"  
  
  
  
"Nobody's pushing, Will. If it's too much, don't do it."  
  
  
  
""Don't do it?" What kind of encouragement is that?"  
  
  
  
"This an "encourage me" talk? I thought it was a "share my pain.""  
  
"I don't know. Then again, what's college for if not experimenting? Maybe I can handle it. I'll know when I've reached my limit."  
  
***  
  
"I'm exhausted just looking at those two. The splashing and the jumping and the running… Shouldn't relaxing involve less exertion?" Xander complained.  
  
  
  
"Absolutely. Exertion can lead to sweatiness." Anya agreed.  
  
  
  
"Which can cause the pain and heartbreak of stinkiness. Better to just stay put." Tara offered.  
  
  
  
Willow grinned. "I think we've just put our finger on why we're the sidekicks."  
  
***  
  
"I'm not. I'm just saying...people get lonely. And having someone around, even someone you  
  
made up, well, maybe it's a little easier."  
  
***  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"Actually, I'm, um - looking for you." Willow responded gently.  
  
"Do you like dolls?"  
  
"Buffy, what are you doing here?"  
  
"I like it here."  
  
"But, you know we need you. You have to come out."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"To be with your friends."  
  
***  
  
"Hey. I know you. You're that first original Slayer who tried killing us all in our dreams. How've you been?"  
  
The primitive gazes at Buffy through the flames. "Death is your gift."  
  
  
  
"Death is my gift?"  
  
  
  
Willow blinked. "Wait. Death is her what?"  
  
  
  
***  
  
"But we don't have to kill her, just stop her from performing the ritual. I mean, there's just the one time she can do it, right?" Willow asked.  
  
***  
  
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." Willow doubled over, kneeling on the ground, sobbing.  
  
"Get up." Buffy took her arm, moving to lift her to her feet.  
  
"I screwed it up. Everything. Tara..."  
  
"Yeah, you screwed up! You could have killed her! You almost did-"  
  
"I know, I know- I can't stop, Buffy. I tried, and I can't."  
  
  
  
"You can."  
  
"I can't. Please help me. Oh, God, I need help..."  
  
***  
  
Buffy rocketed out of the sleep, her eyes flinging wildly around the room. Spike roused as she did, his arms still wrapped loosely around her. Sweat dribbled down her forehead and Spike frowned at her expression.  
  
"Luv?"  
  
Shaking her head slowly, Buffy laid back down. "Just -- dreams. Dreams and promises."  
  
"Shh. It'll be dark soon. You need to get some more sleep."  
  
Buffy said nothing; her mind full of the memories the dreams reminded her of. The promises they'd made, shared and broken.  
  
Together.  
  
Night was going to arrive too soon.  
  
  
  
Prices  
  
All those who would be Magic's Pride must then pay Magic's Price.  
  
Sunset, when day and night meet in their first embrace that will lead to darkness devouring the day. Spike followed the familiar trail through Sunnydale towards the mansion. He'd elected to walk, the last crimson fingers of the sun's demise still streaking the sky. He paused on the corner, propping a recently purchased clove cigarette between his lips. A strike of the lighter and it flamed red at the tip.  
  
He sucked in a deep breath of flavored smoke, his eyes reflecting the brief flash of flame. Sliding back the black duster, he tucked the lighter into his pocket. Black jeans, black t-shirt, black duster. The Watcher had done much better than expected in fishing out something that Spike would feel comfortable in.  
  
His battle armor of choice might seem odd, but it fit him like an old shoe. Smiling faintly to himself, he continued walking. The covered cage he carried weighed nearly nothing. The walk to the mansion reminded him of bygone, better-forgotten times. Yet, no matter how he tried to elude the memories, they assaulted him in curious fashions.  
  
The way the grass smelled where it struggled to grow under an untended oak. The stagnant water in a pond had definitely known better days. The faint odor of decay that crept around the mansion, like a perfume for an old lady readying herself for a final ball.  
  
The last crimson finger vanished into the horizon as he strolled towards the patio that opened into the main room of the mansion. A fire roared in stone fire pit and cinnamon incense added its own peculiar flavor to the air. He walked inside without a struggle.  
  
No human owned this abode.  
  
"You're late," Willow purred from her perch in the large armchair. A pout posed her lips in a manner that might have been alluring on another female. On Red, it looked just like what it was, an act.  
  
Spike shrugged and set the cage down, exhaling the rich scent of the clove as he spoke. "Been a bit bright out."  
  
"Hmm, I think you were a naughty puppy."  
  
"I brought the rat." Spike gestured towards the cage before making himself comfortable against the doorframe.  
  
"And the Watcher?"  
  
"Dead."  
  
"You know, for some reason, I just don't believe you." Willow tsked, she uncurled herself from the chair and strolled towards him idly. "Where's my Xander?"  
  
"Gitboy got a little to enthusiastic. Had to wax him. Sorry." Spike shrugged his shoulders, as if it couldn't be helped.  
  
"Bad puppy." Willow admonished, shaking her head. "You shouldn't lie to me. You couldn't have killed him. He was already dead." She was very nearly upon him.  
  
"I didn't do the deed." Spike grinned.  
  
"No?" Willow paused, eyeing him speculatively. "Then, who?"  
  
"Well, that would have been Giles' job." Buffy responded for him, appearing on the far side of the room. "You really shouldn't play with those things, Will. Magic has consequences and it wasn't really fair to Xander."  
  
Willow's gaze narrowed and her reaction was a little more potent than Spike was expecting. He was airborne, flying backwards and crashing into a stonewall. The impact hurt like hell, sending sparks into his vision and making his head ache. He didn't have time to lie there and take wounds into account. He was forced to take the full force of a stake through his arm as he brought it up to block Angelus.  
  
The pain brought the world back into sharp focus and his face hardened into a mask of hate. His grimace was matched by the hatred on Angelus' expression.  
  
"I should never have let her do it," Angelus snarled.  
  
Yanking the wooden stake out of his arm, Spike belted Angelus across the face and sent him back a few paces. "You shouldn't have done it at all. But we all make mistakes, especially pretty poofs like you."  
  
The insults were tepid compared to the rage swelling between them. They were never meant to be companions much less friends. The beasts within raged to be unchained and their battle was a testament to the force of violence driving them both. Spike held nothing back and expected less to be held back. Angelus, however, wasn't much of a scrapper.  
  
Glass jaw, easier stomach and weak kicks marked his battles. Angelus' true power lay in his psychological waging of warfare, the cruel disarming of his victims' emotional and mental stability. He thrived on the game, the seduction and ultimate destruction of anything his prizes held dear.  
  
In other words, Spike knew he could and would, wipe the floor with him. He may not have the brains for a delicate operation or the patience for pursuing a victim with relentless vicious tricks and foibles, but he made up for it in what he could dish out.  
  
Pounding Angelus' head into the wall and then over it was just the start. For every punch Angelus' landed, Spike delivered three. He was in his element now, the beast rejoicing as fiercely as it raged. He knew he was growling and snarling, epithets exchanged with the same hurtling force as his fists struck at the creature that'd destroyed Drusilla, lead to the near destruction of Buffy and ended the existence of William without remorse or pity.  
  
Yes, he knew the full fury of delivering his rage and enjoyed every moment of it. How absolutely ironic that Angelus should be responsible for creating the instrument of his own destruction. As the stake drove down, evaporating the figure of his torment to dust, Spike threw back his head and howled a triumph.  
  
It was almost as good as the first slayer he'd taken.  
  
Almost.  
  
Dragging himself back to reality, Spike heard the explosions tearing up the night behind him. Whirling, his yellowed eyes squinted at the sudden flashes of blinding light. Letting loose of the stake in his hand, he ran back for the mansion. He hit the wall they'd gone over and scaled it in one gesture, landing on the far side in another.  
  
Willow stood in a swirling vortex, bolts of energy exploding into the house and shattering walls as Buffy dodged and maneuvered. The roar of the noise was too much to hear what they were saying. Spike's eyes darted around the courtyard, looking for a weapon; his eyes alighted on an abandoned broom. The handle was partially cracked, most likely explaining the stake.  
  
Spike snatched it up and lunged towards the fray, but just as he took his stance, Willow whirled. Her black eyes found him and fire exploded towards him.  
  
"BUGGER!" He yowled and hit the ground rolling snuffing out the flames that licked at his duster. The distraction was all Buffy seemed to need; she hit Willow full force, her fist colliding with the witch's jaw.  
  
The night fell into stifling quiet as Willow crashed into the earth and lay still. Not pausing for a moment, Buffy reached into her own pocket and yanked out duct tape. She seized Willow's hands and bound them several times around with the tape. Rolling her over, she straddled her and secured tape over her mouth. Buffy bit off the end of the stretched tape and then used a piece of Willow's shirt to cover her eyes, and then she added a layer of tape to that as well.  
  
Spike pushed himself to his feet and caught sight of Giles entering from the far side. There were four men with him and he indicated Willow who was lay unconscious. He gave Buffy a questioning look, she was relinquishing her hold on Willow and abandoning her to the men who picked the slim, red- haired woman up and carried her over to a crate.  
  
Giles slid his hands into his pockets as he walked through the rubble of the once beautiful mansion. Fire was already licking its way along curtains and furniture, spreading from the epicenter of destruction.  
  
"Are they going to take care of her?" Buffy asked as she moved towards Spike, her eyes looking him over for other signs of injury than he was sure were decorating his face.  
  
"They will do what they can for her, Buffy. I told you that if they couldn't help her, they could at least contain her." Giles replied sadly.  
  
"Watcher's Council?" Spike asked.  
  
Buffy nodded slowly.  
  
"Right, that's a good plan." He was somewhat relieved that Buffy wouldn't have to kill her best friend. He wasn't prepared to admit that he was relieved that he'd not had to do it either. He wasn't sure how they would have gotten past that.  
  
"Giles suggested it." Buffy said quietly. "Angel?"  
  
"Dust." Spike didn't sugar coat it and he found himself watching her expression as the spreading flames flickered shadows over it. He wasn't sure what to make of the emotion that crossed her face, but it was neither revulsion nor grief, so he settled for that.  
  
"We should go," Giles spoke quietly. "The others will make sure this is cleaned out, thoroughly."  
  
"And burned down." Buffy replied.  
  
"That, too."  
  
The three stood silently, looking at the flames and Spike felt tired, despite all his cocky assertions, the outcome of the battle was never certain until it was done. He'd come close to success before, only to have it snatched away.  
  
Giles cleared his throat, motioning for them to go once more and Spike found himself extending his hand to Buffy. He wasn't sure whether she would take it and when she did, he found it curious that he wasn't sure what he felt in response. Their fingers interlaced as they turned to follow Giles into the night.  
  
"After you both rest," Giles said quietly. "I've found the spell to summon Anyanka."  
  
6.1.1.1.1 Endgame  
  
My name is Buffy Summers.  
  
My name was William Carstairs.  
  
I am the Slayer.  
  
I am a vampire.  
  
I used to wish that I could be a normal girl with a normal life.  
  
I used to wish that I could kill the Slayer.  
  
I made plans for what a future would be like when my job was done.  
  
I made plans to save a future and joined forces with the Slayer when it looked like the future was going to end.  
  
I don't have a job though.  
  
It wasn't the end of the world.  
  
I'm not a normal girl.  
  
I'm not a normal vampire.  
  
I have a duty, a place and a responsibility.  
  
I have a home; a place and now I have a friend.  
  
I know what it is to love so much that it hurts.  
  
I've been love's bitch.  
  
I thought I lost the greatest love of my life.  
  
I lost the greatest love of my life.  
  
Fate wasn't finished with me, though.  
  
Fate wasn't finished with us yet.  
  
I love a vampire.  
  
I love a slayer.  
  
The world will never be a perfect place.  
  
The world will always be a shitter.  
  
But I know where I belong now.  
  
But I don't plan on abandoning it.  
  
I don't know what will happen next.  
  
I don't know what will happen next.  
  
We're back where we belong.  
  
We're back where we started.  
  
I'm going to call Giles. We'll need the Watcher's Council to contain Willow.  
  
I'm going to take a trip after we're done with Willow.  
  
He's leaving when it's over.  
  
I need some time to figure some things out.  
  
I'm going to miss him.  
  
I'm going to miss her.  
  
I don't want him to go.  
  
I have to go.  
  
I wish..  
  
I wish..  
  
No, I don't wish. What will happen will happen. I will be here when he comes back.  
  
No more sodding wishes. I'm coming back.  
  
My name is Buffy Summers.  
  
My name is Spike.  
  
The future is a dark road stretching into the night.  
  
We'll follow it together.  
  
  
  
~The Beginning~ 


End file.
